Sundered Order
by Cadsuane
Summary: This story follows what happens to Alistair and Lya, Ferelden and the Grey Wardens after the events in DAO and DAOA.  EDIT:  Chapter 46 has been fixed!
1. Prologue

I have attempted to keep this story true as possible to all the lore I know of the game, as well as my own personal RP choices. Some things are changed out of necessity, but I have tried to keep them to a minimum. I appreciate any and all feedback, especially if you see any continuity errors.

I want to give a very big thank you to KnightofPhoenix from the DA forums. He has been gracious enough to serve as a soundign board for my ideas, and to help me with the more political aspects of this story. Thank you, my friend.

Disclaimer: I do not own nor have any rights to the DAO and DAOA characters or story.

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Prologue: 6 months after the end of the events in DAO.

Osric looked down at the papers on his desk. The last year and a half had been hectic, to say the least. The shortest Blight in history had been defeated by two junior Grey Wardens in a country in the middle of fighting a civil war over the throne. Had he not had all of the communications from the Wardens in Orlais during that year, and the information that came to light once they were finally allowed into Ferelden, he wouldn't have believed it. Not only were the Wardens restored to a position of honor in Ferelden, the throne was held by Wardens. To have this just dropped into his lap like a gift from the Maker was unbelievable.

Not to say there weren't problems. The biggest problem was that Alistair and Lya were somehow both alive. Every Grey Warden knew that slaying the Archdemon meant the Warden who dealt the killing blow had also died. Yet, these two had survived. He might have thought that Riordan was responsible, but he had confirmed that the man died before reaching Fort Drakon and that those two Wardens were the only ones there. It was troubling. The Orlesian Wardens hadn't been able to get an answer from them, saying they both claimed they didn't know how they survived. That was going to have to be dealt with, but not right now. Interrogating them at this time would only hinder his plans.

The other problem was the letter from the queen of Ferelden, though she hadn't been queen when she wrote it. She had written to him asking for information on Grey Wardens and their ability to have children, specifically with each other. He was going to have to be very careful here. While Lya had accomplished extraordinary things, she was still a young, newly married woman. Not only that, she was queen of a country that just fought a war over succession and would be looked at to provide an heir. Coming right out and telling her that it would not happen would not do anyone any good. He would have to have a mage draft a suitable reply about not knowing much and that they would look into it for her.

There was also the matter of the continued darkspawn raids. All accounts of previous Blights talked of how the darkspawn retreated back to the Deep Roads once the Archdemon was slain. But that wasn't happening in Ferelden. Not only that, they were now being spotted in other countries. He wondered if it were related to what happened with the Archdemon. No matter. While savage, these darkspawn parties were still just darkspawn and could be dealt with accordingly. The Wardens would meet the threat the threat of the nemesis the way they always had.

Osric picked up his pen again to finish signing the order appointing Lya Theirin as Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. He was pleased that the Order had its own lands to rule, especially in Ferelden. While he could appoint any Warden as Warden-Commander, in reality Lya was his only choice. She and Alistair would be offended if an outsider was sent to take control after everything they had done. The people would also likely take amiss to that action. Besides, they were both Duncan's recruits, and whatever other faults Osric thought the man had possessed, he was an able recruiter.

They could be very useful to him, Osric thought. But first he had to see what they were really like, especially Lya. He hoped she would do well with her command. A dozen Orlesian Wardens were in Amaranthine, setting up Vigil's Keep as needed, but it was going to be up to the girl to begin formal recruiting. He would have to watch her choices and decisions closely. If all went well, the Wardens would be seeing a rise to power that they had never known in Thedas.


	2. Chapter 1

It was several hours past sunset when the party finally rode through the palace gates in Denerim. The rain, which had been steady for the last few days, had increased steadily throughout the evening into a downpour. The score of riders were soaked and exhausted, having pushed on in order to reach Denerim that night rather than making camp just a few scant hours short of the city. As the gates closed behind them, grooms and stable boys ran out of the stable to help guide the riders in.

The head of the night watch hurried from his tower to meet them after dispatching a messenger to the palace. "Welcome back, your Majesty," he said. "We were growing worried when you didn't arrive the day before yesterday." The rider at the head of the column just nodded to the man and dismounted. The guard tactfully retreated as the party began dismounting and removing their tack and equipment.

Lya Theirin, formerly Lady Lya Cousland, currently Lady Lya, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Savior of Ferelden, Her Royal Majesty, Queen of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, was in a foul mood. That last title was the reason for her more than month long absence from Denerim as she dealt with Grey Warden affairs in Amaranthine. What was supposed to have taken no more than three weeks had stretched into five as everything seemed to go wrong. When she and her escort had finally been ready to depart, the early autumn skies had opened up, turning the roads from Amaranthine to Denerim into mud hock-deep. Not only did it slow their progress, the cold snap that came with the rain caused muscle spasms in three of the horses, forcing them to slow their pace even more unless they wanted to lame the mounts.

She wanted nothing more than to get into the palace, find a hot bath and hot meal, in that order, and go to bed, preferably with her human furnace of a husband beside her. To further those goals, she set about getting Edana unsaddled and brushed down. She could have asked a groom to do it, but she made caring for the horse one of her personal responsibilities. As she brushed the roan mare down, she looked over to Alistair's own sable warhorse, Adair, and smiled fondly, her mood lightening a bit. When Bann Alfstanna had come to present Alistair with the horse and arrow that the Eremon family presented to every monarch, she had also given Lya a horse. Alfstanna hadn't mentioned it in her speech, but they all knew it was in thanks for rescuing her brother, Irminric. After that year spent walking back and forth across Ferelden, the acquisition of horses was sublime.

As she was finishing up and making sure Edana had enough oats and water, Lya noticed something odd. The stable was nearly full. There were always a dozen or so extra stalls, but these all seemed to be filled. Shouldering her saddlebags, she wandered over to the unfamiliar mounts. They were good animals, with clean lines and strong muscles, and obviously well cared for. She frowned as she searched their tack for a clue as to who they belonged to.

A griffin symbol adorned the saddle of the horse in front of her. Moving quickly, she checked the other stalls and found the same thing in each one. Fifteen Grey Warden mounts. In Denerim. Lya didn't like this. She was the Warden-Commander and the Grey Warden base was in Amaranthine. Why would a well armed and provisioned party of Wardens come here and not to the Warden headquarters? She shook her head. Perhaps they had been looking for her, seeing as how she spent most of her time in Denerim. If they arrived only recently, they may have opted to wait out the weather. She needed to find out more. But as she made her way into the palace, she couldn't shake the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that something was wrong.

She walked quickly down the quiet halls, hoping to get to her chambers and get her armor off before it rusted to her. A familiar voice coming from a side passage stopped her, however. "Ah, my dear Grey Warden. How good it is to see that you have returned. You were gone so long we were beginning to fear you meant to stay in Amaranthine permanently. How cruel you have been to deprive us of your perfect visage! I myself have been desolate in your absence, naturally," the lilting, accented voice said.

Lya turned, a genuine smile curving up the corners of her mouth as she spotted the elf walking towards her. "Zevran," she said warmly, "you have no idea how much I've missed you." And dropping all of her gear, she hugged him. Zevran usually accompanied her on her trips to Amaranthine, but he had been busy with something when she left this time. With all the problems she had experienced, rarely had she missed his wit and humor more.

Zevran returned the hug despite the wet and freezing nature of her armor. "My dear, really, we need to get you into some proper clothes. Embracing you when you are wearing such things is, well quite honestly, not nearly so much fun as it could be." Lya laughed, some of her weariness dissipating at Zevran's banter. She stepped away from him still chuckling, reaching down to get her things, but Zevran beat her to it. He lifted her saddlebags onto his shoulder easily and fell into step beside her.

"Come; let us get you out of that armor and into a hot tub before you freeze to death. Perhaps if you ask nicely I might even wash your back for you. Surely you must be stiff from all that riding." She laughed again and punched him lightly in the shoulder, ignoring his mock cries of pain. The elf fell silent as they continued walking, and Lya shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. For all his banter, he was looking unusually serious.

He saw her looking at him and shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "Best we wait till you are cleaned up and fed and then you can go see Alistair. He has more answers than I do and best you hear whatever he has to say from him."

"Does this have to do with the Wardens?" she asked.

Zevran thought for a minute. "Like I said, best you hear this from Alistair. But I will say, my dear Warden, that I think I much prefer you Ferelden Wardens to the others."

They finished the walk to the royal bedchambers in silence. Ever the gentleman, Zevran opened the door for her and allowed her to enter first. She spotted the steaming bath in the corner of the room and broke out into a wide grin. "Zevran, have I ever told you I love you?"

He laughed. "I have, on occasion, heard you utter such words. Though not nearly as frequently as I would like, nor with your husband present. Why might that be, I wonder, hm?" Their camaraderie was an easy thing now. It had not always been like that. In the beginning, his outrageous flirting had flustered her, and she considered it wildly inappropriate. He had also meant it in the beginning. If Zevran could have bedded her, he would have. But time had changed the nature of their relationship. Not counting Alistair, Zevran was her best friend and she wouldn't change him for anything.

Zevran set the saddlebags down against a wall and moved to help Lya remove her armor. He had been right about her being stiff and she merely waited quietly while he undid the straps and buckles that would have been nearly impossible for her to reach. She finally stood in the padded rust-splotched undergarments that kept her armor from flaying her skin off. She began to peel those off, but stopped and winced. Sodden as they were, they hadn't done a very good job. There were several spots that had been rubbed raw and she wasn't looking forward to her bath nearly so much anymore.

Sucking his teeth as he saw the sores, Zevran retrieved a small vial from a cabinet in the room. He pressed it into her hand with a terse "Drink." She started to protest that the sores hardly called for a healing poultice, but the look on Zevran's face stopped her. She had thought earlier that she had rarely seen him so grim, but that wasn't true. She had _never_ seen him so grim, not even when they faced the Archdemon. Without another word, she drained the vial, instantly feeling better as the magical potion began healing the wounds. Nodding in approval, Zevran took the vial from her and began collecting her sodden cloak and armor.

As he set them near the fire to dry before too much rust set in, Lya took the opportunity of his turned back to finish peeling her clothes off and hop into the water. The faint chuckle from across the room told her Zevran knew what she was doing. The water was almost too hot and felt absolutely wonderful, and Lya set to work scrubbing the grime of traveling for almost a week from her body. Zevran came over to pick up her sodden clothes, wrinkling his nose at them. "If I may suggest, I would have them burned, my dear. But we may have to wait a week or two for them to dry out." Dumping them in a pile near the armor, he then moved the privacy screen in front of the tub so that she wouldn't be exposed to anyone entering.

Checking to make sure everything was in order, he headed towards the door. "A servant will be coming up with some dinner for you. Take your time. When you feel human again, Alistair will be in his study." She called out her thanks and Zevran went to open the door. He hesitated before he did, saying softly to himself, "I am glad you are home, Lya, but I do not know how happy you will be."


	3. Chapter 2

Zevran entered Alistair's study without knocking. Alistair, still sitting at his desk, was practically buried in papers, writing at a frantic and harried pace. He looked up as the assassin entered and began to rise. "She's back? How is she?" he asked. Zevran waved him back down and dropped into the chair across from Alistair's desk.

"She is fine," he said. "Cold, tired, hungry, irritated. You are in for a thrilling night, I think, your Majesty." Smiling briefly, Zevran continued, "I've taken care of the first three, but I'm afraid both of you disapprove when I try to help her with the last one." Alistair scrubbed a hand through his already disheveled hair and nodded, not even bothering to scowl at Zevran's usual comments on his relationship. That was a bad sign, Zevran knew. He could usually get a rise out of the younger man and it was good for a few laughs, but Alistair had far more serious things on his mind.

Alistair looked at the papers before him in disgust and threw the pen down. "Enough. If anything still needs to be done, I'll finish it in the morning. I might as well go talk to her now." He stood up, opening a drawer in the desk to remove a single opened letter; a letter which still bore bits of gray sealing wax on it. He paused before opening the door, looking at the elf still lounging in the chair. "Zevran, I would appreciate it if you could meet me here around dawn tomorrow. There are…things I need to discuss with you."

Zevran's eyebrows rose. The young man was far more serious than Zevran was used to seeing, grave even. Whatever he wanted to discuss, it would likely be big. "But of course, Alistair. At dawn then," he said, also getting to his feet and following the king out of the room. The two men walked in companionable silence until reaching the split in the hallway that would take them in different directions. Zevran reached out a hand to stop Alistair before he walked away, and Alistair looked at him questioningly.

"Be gentle with her, Alistair. Our fearless Grey Warden is not always as tough as she seems, especially when it concerns you." Alistair didn't reply, just nodded and touched Zevran's shoulder briefly in thanks.

Alistair's steps slowed as he neared the royal apartments. He was so tired. The last few days had reminded how deeply he both loved and needed his wife. And now he was only going to be with her for one short night before they were parted again. He wanted nothing more to just go in and hold her until morning, but that wasn't going to happen. There was a lot he had to tell her, and she wasn't going to like any of it.

Quietly, he entered and stood for a moment looking at the center of his world. She was sitting at the table in their room with the remains of a veritable feast spread before her. Wrapped in a soft robe, she was reading one of the missives that had arrived while she was away. The rose he had given her so long ago was held gently in her hand, still as fresh as the day he had picked in Lothering. He wondered what magic kept it like that. Sensing him, she looked up and put both rose and letter on the table. Then she was suddenly in his arms. Her hair was still damp, she smelled of soap, and her hands and mouth were very inquisitive. Alistair allowed himself to be lost in her embrace for awhile, her nearness as intoxicating as ever after a long absence.

Eventually, however, he pulled away and rested his forehead against her own briefly before guiding her back to her chair. He needed some distance from her in order to collect his thoughts. She had the most delightful effect on his brain, but this was one time he needed to think clearly. Lya made a disappointed sound low in her throat and looked towards the high bed meaningfully. "Later," he whispered huskily. "Later. But first, we need to talk."

Lya allowed herself to be guided to the table, knowing Alistair wanted to talk about what Zevran had been hinting at earlier. She couldn't help pouting a little bit though. She had missed him so much, and things had gone so poorly, she felt she deserved a little respite before the rest of the world came crashing back down on them. Alistair pressed her down into the chair, letting his hands linger in a caress along her shoulders and throat. Then fumbling the letter out of his pocket, he gave it to her. "Before anything else, read this."

She took the letter, noting the remains of the gray wax that had sealed it. Frowning, she looked at the front. No writing marred the surface of the heavy, expensive parchment. She opened the letter, smoothed it flat on the wood in front of her and began to read.

_To His Most Royal Majesty, King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden,_

_It is our hope that this missive finds you in good health. The Grey Wardens thank you for all that you have personally done in restoring both honor and prestige to the Order in Ferelden. We sincerely hope that the events of the last couple years will usher in a new age of cooperation between the Order and governments of not just Ferelden but all of Thedas._

_It is much to our regret, then, that there are still matters left unclear concerning the defeat of the most recent Blight. We know you have been much involved with the restoring of your country, and rightfully so. But matters cannot be left as they are indefinitely. We feel that Ferelden is in a position now that it does not need the full time attention of its king._

_Therefore, your presence is needed in Weisshaupt. We understand that such a request is not taken lightly. We have full confidence that the rest of your government will be able to capably handle all matters that come before the throne during your stay here. We shall endeavor to make your journey as brief as possible, and to that end we have arranged for swift ships and fresh mounts to be available at all points in your journey. We do not desire your absence from your kingdom to be any longer than absolutely necessary._

_Furthermore, in order to guarantee your Majesty's safety, this missive is being delivered by an honor guard of the Grey Wardens' finest members. They shall escort you for the entirety of your trip to and from Weisshaupt. We look forward to finally meeting the Hero of Ferelden in person._

_Osric_

_First Warden_

_Weisshaupt_

Lya read the letter through once, and then went back and reread it again slowly. Her brows knit together as she read, her lips moving silently as she went back to certain passages again. Finally, she lowered the letter back to the desk and sat thinking. Alistair let her work through it. It was a testament to her political teaching that he had been able to read through the lines to the more ominous messages hidden in the letter almost instantly.

"They are not actually asking, are they? You don't have a choice in the matter," she said slowly.

"No," he said shaking his head briefly. "That was most apparent from both the letter and the…demeanor of my 'honor guard'.

Her nostrils flared. "Do they truly think they can simply summon a sitting king any time they wish?! You are not some servant for them to order around!" she said angrily. "But then to them you are not just a king, you are also a Grey Warden. I suppose they think that takes precedence." She looked at him seriously. "They want to know why we're both still alive."

"Yes," he said heavily. "Playing stupid worked with the Orlesian Wardens for a little while, but I don't think it will work nearly so well in Weisshaupt. I wish we had been alone on top of that damned tower. Then we could have given all the credit to Riordan." He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. Maker, he was tired. "Lya," he said carefully, "we need to decide what I'm going to tell them."

She said nothing for a long time, sitting with her eyes closed and rubbing the spot between her eyebrows. It was a habit she had long before he met her and he wondered not for the first time if he should get her a worry token. He had always liked having one when he needed to think and he would rather she didn't wear the skin off her forehead.

She finally looked at him. "I think…" she began slowly, "I think you need to tell them the truth."

Alistair said nothing for a long moment, simply accepting her answer. He had known this would probably be her decision and he thought he knew why she decided on it, but he wanted to make sure he understood all of her reasons. "Why?" he asked softly. "And if I do, Lya, what happens if they go looking for Morrigan? She was your friend. Are you really willing to expose her like this?" He harbored no love for Morrigan and he tried not to think of her out there with his child. He wondered sometimes, but in his heart knew he would never set eyes on his firstborn. But for all that, he was grateful to Morrigan. Without her, he would not have this life he had now. The price she asked seemed small in comparison to that.

"Morrigan…" Lya said softly with the same expression of regret that crossed her face whenever the name of her friend was mentioned. They had been an odd pairing. The two women shared little in common, but had somehow found a connection. Lya had always thought of Morrigan as her alter self. Had Morrigan had been raised with a loving family, or had Lya been raised with a mother such as Flemeth, she could easily see them swapping places. While the two disagreed about a lot of things, there had always been the knowledge that each did whatever was necessary to protect what they loved.

"Morrigan can take care of herself," she said. "If she does not want to be found, I highly doubt the Wardens will be able to find her. And even if they did, she can take deal with it. I'm not worried about her, Alistair. She knew what she was doing. I wish no harm to her, but she is not my primary concern."

She sighed and waved a hand at the letter on the table before her. "But why are they sending for you, though? I love you, Alistair, but _I_ am the Warden-Commander here. _I_ am the one who slew the Archdemon. _I_ am the one who dealt with that mess in Amaranthine last year. And while they don't know it yet, _I_ am the one ultimately responsible for why we're alive. If anyone should go, it should be me."

He looked at her, slightly incredulously. "You can't guess?" he asked. She shook her head, her brows pulling together in confusion. He chuckled. "Ah, Lya my love, you always have a way of making me feel better. Think about it. Think about how those Grey Wardens in Weisshaupt are likely to see the two of us.

"One on hand, there's me: A bastard prince who only met his father once. A prince who didn't even set foot inside the palace until he had to in order to decide the crown. I slept in a stable until I was ten and was then sent off for templar training because my guardian's wife didn't like me. I irritated everyone there, including the Grand Cleric, and wasn't thought very highly of. I was recruited in the Grey Wardens just about by chance and only ever fought a handful of darkspawn until Ostagar. After that, the other Grey Warden I was with was kind enough to let me tag along on her grand adventure to save Ferelden. I _did_ get to kill the Hero of Ferelden at the Landsmeet, but only because my fellow Grey Warden let me. After that, she's the one who insisted I be king.

"And then on the other hand, there's you: A daughter of Ferelden's most noble house, a child of two warriors who fought to overthrow the Orlesians. A woman who was raised from the cradle to be both warrior and leader. A woman who then fought her way out of an attempted assassination and survived the battle of Ostagar. And you were just getting started. You then spent a year traveling across Ferelden, gathering an army to defeat the Blight. Doing that required you to save a town from an undead plague, clear the Circle Tower of demons and abominations, find Andraste's ashes to cure Eamon, and let's not forget to mention that we killed a high dragon in the process. And you were just getting warmed up. You ended a centuries old werewolf curse and convinced the Dalish to fight _alongside_ humans, went into the Deep Roads to rescue a Paragon and ended up finding two of them. You then chose a king in Orzammar, "rescued" a queen who was being held captive, rallied the nobility of Ferelden to your side, deposed said rescued queen and her regent, named the new king of Ferelden and at the same time put yourself on the throne beside him. And _then_ you brought your army against the darkspawn horde in order to save your capital from being totally destroyed, fought your way through the city slaying darkspawn generals as you went, made it to the top of Fort Drakon where you kicked the Archdemon's ass for a bit before sticking a giant sword in its head to end the shortest Blight in history. And along the way, you managed to win the love of the common people among all three races by saving families and doing what was right. I think you might have even managed to rescue some kittens from trees. I can't be sure, though, that year is kind of a blur."

He grinned down at her, enjoying the embarrassment on her cheeks. She hated having all her accomplishments listed off like that. She always maintained that she only did what had to be done, and while he completely agreed with her, what she had had to do was staggering. His wife was a bit of a paradox like that, doing the impossible and then saying it just needed to be done.

"I didn't do those things by myself!" she burst out hotly. "You were there every step of the way and I couldn't have done most of them without you there! And don't you _dare_ start with that nonsense about you not being capable or able to lead or any of that!"

"I know, I know, Lya, but this is how they see it. And that's not even looking at what you did in Amaranthine. When you look at it from their perspective, which of those two Grey Wardens would _you_ want to pull away from their home and all their support to question? Which one are you going to be able to manipulate to your liking?"

Understanding dawned on her face and she looked disgusted with herself. "I'm sorry, Alistair. That didn't even occur to me and it should have." He waved off her apology.

"You're tired, love, and rightfully so. If it makes you feel any better about it, it took me a couple hours before I figured it all out, and I was well rested at the time. Anyway, that's why I figure they're sending for me." He frowned and shook his head as if dismissing a thought. "So we tell them the truth, fine. I have no idea how they'll react, but at least we won't have to worry about making sure our stories line up."

"What about what we told the Orlesians? You know, about how we had no idea?"

"Yes, well, _that_. I'll just say that I ordered you not to speak about it." She gaped at him and he did his best to look haughty. "After all, my dear, I _do_ outrank you, and as you hadn't yet been appointed Commander, I was still the senior Grey Warden of Ferelden." She arched an eyebrow at him, her face effortlessly taking on a regal cast as she looked coolly at him.

"So I am to take orders from you now, am I?"

"Yes, I think so. And if you've forgotten that, then perhaps it is time for a reminder. Let's start with a simple order, shall we? As your king, I order you to come over here and give your husband a kiss."

She sighed as she got to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. "Well, if I _must_, I suppose I'll just have to obey a royal command. I am ever your Majesty's most faithful subject." He chuckled as their lips met and he slid his hands down her back to press her more firmly against him. They stood locked in their embrace for awhile, and her hands were just starting to do the most interesting things at the waistband of his pants when she said quietly, "You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?"

Alistair stiffened and cursed softly. He had never been a very good liar and he was even worse with Lya. She could read him like a book and she always knew when he was hiding something. It went both ways, though, since he could do the same thing to her. He brushed her hair behind her ears and said, "Yes. They wanted to leave three days ago, but I said I wasn't going anywhere until you were back. They weren't happy, but they didn't try to drag me away by force."

Lya nodded and rested against his chest, enjoying the warm, solid feel of him. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt before tightening as she asked, "What else aren't you tell me?"

_Careful, Alistair_, the little voice in the back of his head warned. He didn't want to tell her his other fears, the ones that had plagued him since the Grey Wardens had arrived. With a sudden motion, he swept her into his arms and moved towards the bed. She threw her arms around his neck at the sudden movement, but made no attempt to resist. Alistair wanted nothing more than to lay her down on that bed and love her with all the tenderness in him, but instead he leaned against the headboard, settling her in his lap.

He held her against him, stroking her hair gently. She knew she wasn't going to like whatever was coming next. It was his 'bad news' position. They had spent many nights like this in the beginning, talking and thinking about how to deal with the myriad problems they faced. Lya just waited.

Finally, he began speaking. "I love you. You know that, right?" She nodded, but inside she shivered at that word choice, hoping it was unconscious and not a deliberate call back to those very same words she had said to him two years ago. "You are a strong woman, Lya. You are smart, cunning and resourceful. You have the respect and support of the Landsmeet. You are well liked by the Circle Magi, the dwarves in Orzammar and the elves, both in the Alienage and the Dalish. The Grey Wardens in Amaranthine are also personally loyal to you, and not just as their Commander. The people there practically worship you. You also have friends and trusted advisors who would give their lives for you."

"Why are we listing all the reasons I'm awesome, Alistair?" she asked irritably, hoping to goad him into getting to the point.

"I'm listing them because I want you to know that I know Ferelden will be in good hands if I don't come back." She twisted out of his arms, turning so she could look at him. She was clearly shocked.

"Don't come back?! What are you talking about?! Don't joke like that, Alistair! It's not funny!"

Alistair reached out to toy with the small braid that hung by her ear. "I'm not joking, Lya. I have the feeling that if this Osric doesn't like what he hears I'm not going to make it back to Ferelden."

"They wouldn't dare!"

It was his turn to arch an eyebrow at her. "Wouldn't they? They could make it look like an accident, you know. A large darkspawn raid or perhaps being caught at night by bandits. Maybe my horse will miss a step and I'll be thrown. A broken neck can certainly happen that way. Or perhaps they'll go for something closer to home and I'll be lost as sea like Maric was." Alistair sighed and pulled her back into his arms. She was upset and he didn't blame her. He was upset, too. "I've discussed this with Zevran and he agrees with me. He's not a trusting person to begin with, but he said he trusted them about as far as he could throw a chevalier and his horse, to borrow your phrase."

"But why? What could they possibly hope to gain?" she asked, clearly working her way to find some answer. She hated being this tired and not able to think straight. It made her feel like a child again, being questioned by her father at the dinner table about what she had learned from Brother Aldous that day.

"To punish us, maybe? To show that their power can reach anywhere? They seemed thrilled with what happened in Amaranthine at first; at the power what you accomplished gave the Order. But now?" He shrugged. "I think the blush is off the rose, as it were. The more I learn about them, the more I begin to realize we're not really like other Wardens, Lya. Besides the fact that if we had to choose, we would choose Ferelden over the Wardens, I think Duncan, Riordan and the others I knew were exceptions rather than the rule." He frowned. "No, that's not quite right. I think most _regular_ Wardens are like us. But the ones in charge at Weisshaupt? I think they are very different indeed. And I don't think they like what we are very much."

She bristled with righteous anger. "Then you tell them," she snapped, "that if _anything_ happens to you, then what I did to the Archdemon with seem like one of Zevran's massages compared to what I will do to them."

He threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, my Lya, I have no doubt that you could assault Weisshaupt Fortress singe-handedly and probably win, but you wouldn't be free to do that and you know it." He placed a finger on her lips so he could finish. "And you couldn't bring an army," he continued. "We both know Ferelden is too weak to go waging war against the Wardens a thousand miles away right now. And even with relations with Orlais improving to slightly more than chilly, we're still maintaining close watches in the Frostbacks and all the ports. If something were to happen to the king of Ferelden, we would need its queen here. You are far more dangerous to others looking to exploit our weakness than anyone else I can think of. Even Anora, with all her political skill, wouldn't be able to protect Ferelden the way you would in that situation."

His eyes twinkled at her as he tried to lighten the mood. "But I will relay your message, and assure them that if anything happens, then as soon as Ferelden is secure, you will be along shortly to collect heads. And while it might be nice to bring Zevran so he can demonstrate his massage skills, I would feel better leaving him here." She wasn't reassured, not at all and his attempts at humor weren't helping. "It may not come to that, Lya," he sighed. "I just wanted you to be prepared. Just in case, you know, the worst happened."

She twisted in his arms so she could sit facing him. Straddling him and glaring, she jabbed a finger into his chest hard enough to hurt. "You listen to me, Alistair Theirin," she said fiercely, "you had better come back to me! If you don't, I _will_ come looking for you, no matter where you are. Weisshaupt doesn't scare me, nor do the Wardens. And I fought through the Fade to find you once and I will do it again if I have to!"

She was scared, he realized. Scared and channeling that fear into anger to keep it at bay. And she was beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. Her jaw was set at that stubborn angle that said more loudly than words that she meant business. All the twisting around had caused her robe to open, revealing the inner slopes of her breasts. And straddling him the way she was left the gorgeous length of her thighs exposed. He grasped her hips and pulled her more firmly against him. She braced her hands on his shoulders for balance and he leaned forward to kiss her. "Then I think," he said huskily, "you should give me a reason to come home."

He wanted to be gentle. Maker help him, he really did. She had been gone for so long and she was worn out and tired, and he wanted to make sure she knew how much he loved her. But neither of them had the patience for that tonight. Their joining was frantic, almost desperate, each seeking to banish their heartache through raw physical intimacy. He knew he was holding her too hard, that bruises would mar the fair skin on her arms and hips in the morning. Just as she knew the scratches on his back and small teeth marks on his shoulder would burn under his armor tomorrow. And while it wasn't what they may have wanted, it was what they needed.

They both lay breathing heavily in the aftermath. Lya enjoyed feeling the heavy weight of Alistair on her, cradled between her hips. And when he went to move off of her to lie at her side, she tightened her legs and wrapped her arms around him. "Lya," he murmured, smoothing a damp strand of hair off her brow, "I'm too heavy. Let me move."

"No," Lya whispered. She pressed a small kiss to the side of his throat. "Stay right here." So Alistair settled for shifting his weight to the side, bracing most of it on his arm so that he wouldn't crush her. They lay like that for a while, and while they were both tired, sleep didn't come to either of them for a long time. Eventually, Alistair fell asleep first and Lya watched over him. She gently stroked the dark blond hair that never seemed to lay flat, the angles of his face, the smooth muscles of his arms. She didn't pray very often, but tonight she hoped the Maker wasn't as absent as the Chantry said and that He was listening now. "Please," she whispered into the darkness. "Bring him home to me safely."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

Zevran approached Alistair's study and entered without bothering to knock. He looked around and found Alistair standing by the window, dressed in his silver and gold armor. The king's hands were clasped behind his back as he stood looking out at his city. The only items missing were his sword, shield and gauntlets, all of which lay on his desk. The desk itself was bare except for those items and a small document chest. Alistair turned as Zevran entered and nodded to the elf.

"Morning, Zevran. Thanks for coming." Alistair moved towards the desk and Zevran followed. He touched the document case briefly before looking up at the assassin. Golden brown eyes met amber ones and Zevran could see the worry in the younger man's eyes. "Before I say anything else, Zevran," Alistair began slowly, "I want you to know that I trust you. And I don't just mean with Lya's life, but as a friend. I realize our…history has been a little rocky, and I apologize for that. You have done nothing in all the time I have known you to ever make me doubt your loyalty to Lya, yet some part of me continued to doubt you for a long time. You've proven yourself to be a true friend countless times and I wanted you to know that I'm sorry for things that I've said in the past. I can be stubborn like that."

Zevran just nodded, accepting the apology. While he suspected the timing of Alistair's words were due to the current crisis, he did not doubt their sincerity. That was the refreshing thing about Alistair. When the man said something, he meant it. Seeing Zevran wasn't going to make an issue about it, Alistair blew out a relieved sigh and went on.

"We've already discussed what may happen, and I know you will do everything in your power to keep her safe. But if the Wardens are truly the threat we think they might be, there are things you need to know. Lya and I had agreed not to tell anyone, but that doesn't seem to be an option for us anymore and I want someone I can trust to know in case…." He trailed off, looking grim, but shook his head and continued. "You know, of course, that whoever killed the Archdemon was supposed to die, right?"

"Yes, I had gathered that when you asked me to spy on that first group of Wardens who arrived," Zevran said dryly.

"Right, well, the thing is Lya and I both survived. And the reason we survived is because Morrigan…helped us."

"Morrigan helped you, did she? I got the impression she didn't like you very much, my dear Alistair."

"I don't think she did it for me, Zevran," Alistair said wryly. "Anyway, she helped us with a ritual. I, uh.... Um, well, I sort of helped Morrigan…conceive a child." He couldn't keep from blushing and cursed this damned reaction. Anyway," he hurried on, "because the child carried the taint, it drew the Archdemon's soul instead of it being drawn to the Grey Warden. So, long story short, there it is."

Zevran looked at Alistair with faint awe. "You and Morrigan? Truly, Alistair, I had no idea. Well, well, how interesting. So tell me, how was she?"

"Damn it, Zevran! Now is not the time for this!" Zevran regretted his words, one of the few times he had ever done so. He realized that for all the growth Alistair had shown as a king and leader, part of him was still very much the lovesick boy he had known on the road. And the only woman he had ever been with intimately was the one he loved. That would have made what happened with Morrigan hard on him.

"I apologize, Alistair. Old habits and all that. So now that I know, what am I to do this with this information?"

"Nothing, I hope. But in case I meet with my unfortunate demise, it is prudent that you know." Alistair touched the case in front of him again. "In here are several documents. Official proclamations, actually. One of them declares Lya the sole monarch of Ferelden in the event of my death. I don't know if it will do any good with the Landsmeet, but I can hope. Another is an order for all Grey Wardens to be expelled from Ferelden, save those that Lya Theirin, Grey Warden Commander, allows to remain. It also declares that no Wardens may enter Ferelden upon pain of death, again except for those allowed by Lya. I know she's been preparing to hand over the title of Warden-Commander as soon as Weisshaupt decides on someone. If that order comes, and she is relieved of duty, the order will still stand. I have faith her personal judgment about which Wardens we can trust. A third is an order to release all information pertaining to the Grey Wardens to the public." He grimaced. "I do not want you to have to use those last two, Zevran. For all that I don't trust this group of Wardens, I am still a Grey Warden and I believe most of them are good people. Those two orders will hurt the Order deeply and I don't really want that.

"The last proclamation declares that in the event of the untimely death of both myself and the queen, Fergus Cousland will be named the Heir-Apparent of Ferelden, appointing Arl Eamon as Regent and you as Chancellor."

Zevran whistled. Their little templar was all grown up. He knew Alistair was growing into his role as king, but he hadn't realized the depths to which Lya's teachings had sunk in. "Does Lya know about this?"

Alistair shook his head. "No. And I don't want her to know unless absolutely necessary. These documents are dangerous, Zevran. If they fell into the wrong hands…."

"Do not worry, Alistair. I can make sure they remain safe. But I must ask, what do you intend to do if I am also eliminated? All these things do no good if I am rotting in a shallow grave."

"If that were to happen…." Alistair looked back out the window, thinking carefully. "Once I am gone and these documents are hidden, you might want to send letters to Arl Teagan, Arl Bryland, Bann Alfstanna or Bann Sighard; perhaps all four if you really think it's necessary. I trust all of them and if I had to have this information given to anyone…." He cursed in frustration. "I don't really know, all right? I'm trying to see all the things that could possibly go wrong and it gets so complicated! Use your best judgment, Zevran. My main priority is keeping Lya safe." He looked at Zevran in desperation. "Just keep her safe, Zev. That's all I really want. If anything were to happen to her and it was my fault…."

Zevran clasped the man's arm in his. "I swear to you, Alistair, I will do my best. I can promise nothing, this you know. But believe me when I say she is very nearly as dear to me as she is to you." Zevran meant it, too. Lya was really his only true friend. To lose her would be unbearable, if for slightly different reasons than it would be for Alistair.

For a moment Alistair returned the grasp on Zevran's arm. There was nothing more to be said. Both men knew where they stood and what had to be done. Alistair turned back to the window and noticed the lightening of the sky. He handed the chest to Zevran, donned his gauntlets and secured his sword and shield to his back. He took one last look around his study before heading out. "Well, I suppose I should get going. I would so hate to be late to my own party."


	5. Chapter 4

Again, any all feedbacks/reviews greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!

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**Chapter 4:**

Despite the early hour, word had gotten out that the king was leaving Ferelden to visit Weisshaupt, and so there were a surprising number of people on the streets. Alistair rode towards the docks astride Adair, waving and nodding graciously to his subjects lining the streets. He always felt like a pompous ass doing this, but Lya assured him he looked quite natural. She had then teased him about it being in his blood and he had grumbled that made two good things about his birthright.

This of course meant that he got to the docks a good deal later than he had planned. The Wardens were waiting for him, their horses and the extra one for him already aboard. They did not look happy. Alistair dismounted and handed the reins to the head of his personal guard. Not very surprised, he saw that Zevran was already there. As Alistair walked by him, he heard the low whisper pitched towards his ears only. "She said she's coming."

Alistair nodded to the Grey Warden in charge. "Marlon," he said evenly.

"Ah, Your Majesty, how good of you to join us. We were beginning to fear something unfortunate had happened on your way from the palace," Marlon drawled, his Orlesian accent dripping with sarcasm.

Marlon's unctuous tone made Alistair want to dislodge a few teeth from the man's jaw, but he resisted the urge. Instead he smiled pleasantly, and with an easy laugh replied, "Oh, no need to worry about that. It seems my people universally adore me. Isn't it nice to be so loved?" He saw Marlon's jaw tightened and chuckled inwardly to himself. Let them think him a fool. He'd rather be underestimated than overestimated in a situation like this.

"Well, let us be off then. I had hoped to meet the queen, but it seems like I will have to wait for-"

He broke off as a commotion disturbed the crowd at the front of the docks. Alistair turned to see what was going on and had to stifle a laugh. At the same time, he heard Zevran give a low chuckle behind him and say, "Your wife certainly knows how to make an entrance."

Riding at the head of a score of guards dressed in glittering armor was the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. She was wearing her original Commander armor they had…liberated…from Soldier's Peak and it reflected the morning light brilliantly. Her helm hung from the pommel of her saddle, allowing the ocean breeze to tug at her hair, and more importantly, making sure she could clearly be seen by everyone. Golanth trotted happily beside her, looking imposing with his fresh coating of kaddis. A long box was lashed behind her saddle, but what was in it, Alistair couldn't begin to guess. As they drew closer, all could see the Grey Warden insignia emblazoned on the guards' armor or stitched into their cloaks.

Lya rode up to where Alistair's party waited and dismounted. As she did so, Alistair noticed she was armed with Maric's Blade and Cailan's Crest. It was a subtle and powerful message; a Grey Warden Commander wielding the might of her order and holding the power of Ferelden at her back. _Very good, my love_, he thought. _Let them see who you really are._ She turned to Alistair, completely ignoring the Wardens beside him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she saluted him. "Your Majesty," she said.

"Commander," he replied, trying very hard to keep his lips from twitching.

Only then turning to the man next to him, she nodded at Marlon. "Warden," she greeted him impassively. Everything in her bearing and manner bespoke of the fact that she outranked him, and she wanted everyone there to know it. Marlon stiffened and his eyes went flat with dislike. If he clenched his jaw any harder, he was going to save Alistair the trouble of breaking his teeth for him.

"Commander," Marlon returned icily, crossing his arms and saluting her. Lya inclined her head at the response and turned back towards Alistair.

"Your Majesty," she declared in a voice that carried effortlessly over the crowd, "the Grey Wardens are here to bid you farewell and wish you speed and good fortune on your travels. May your absence from Ferelden's shores be brief. I have full confidence that the Grey Wardens will show you all due respect and courtesy during your stay in Weisshaupt, and I know they shall guard well the heir to the line of Calenhad."

Lya turned to let her gaze travel over all of the Wardens this time, and while her voice still carried to the crowd, her words were meant for them. "Safe journey, Wardens. I know well the prowess of warriors such as yourselves, and know that in your care we have no need to fear for the safety of our king."

Zevran watched Marlon's hands clench into fists, though he relaxed them nearly as quickly. So quickly Zevran doubted anyone but he saw it. Behind Marlon, the other Wardens shifted slightly. This was not what the plan had been. Their opening strike had been to been to get Alistair out of Ferelden quickly and quietly, and it had failed. Lya's little performance not only deflected that attack, but had slipped under their guard and drawn blood. In a few neat sentences she had told them that she _knew_ what they were trying to do, and threatened them with spectacular amounts of violence if they tried it. He rather enjoyed this part.

And then, as if on cue, and it probably was, one of her Grey Warden guards dismounted from his horse and removed the box from behind Lya's saddle. Bringing it to her, Lya opened the box to reveal Starfang nestled within. Lya, Alistair and Zevran clearly heard the gasps that came from not only the crowd but from some of the Wardens. The blade was exquisite, and as far as anyone knew, the only one of its kind in all of Thedas, having been forged from star-metal specifically for her hand. It was the blade Lya carried in the war against the Blight, and there were already legends surrounding it.

Taking the sword by the blade, Lya dropped to one knee before Alistair, extending Starfang's hilt to him from across her forearm. "You Majesty," she said in a ringing voice, "I would be honored if you carried my blade with you. I can offer no greater protection short of going myself."

"I would be honored, Commander," Alistair said gravely. He loved her like this; his fierce warrior queen. He wanted nothing more than to say to the Black City with everyone there and sweep her into his arms. But he couldn't. This little show required both of them to play their parts. He took Starfang from her, and turning to hand it to Zevran, unsheathed Duncan's sword from his back. "In exchange, I ask that you keep my blade for me until I return to claim it." She extended her hands to take the blade and placed it reverently in the box as he slid Starfang home into his own scabbard.

Facing him one last time, Lya extended her sword arm to Alistair and he grasped it with his own. Only Zevran was close enough to hear their whispered exchange.

"I love you, Alistair."

"And I love you. Always."

Alistair turned from her with no sign of the pain it must have caused him and walked towards the gangplank of the ship. The other Wardens fell into step behind him and they all boarded. The crowds, which had grown even more by now, cheered as the royal banner was run to the top of the mast, the sails were raised and the ship began to cast off lines. There were calls and well wishes for some time and then the crowd began to disperse. But Lya stood at the end of the dock, hands clasped behind her back, unmoving. She watched the ship and her husband sail away. Alistair stood at the stern of the ship, hands braced on the railing watching as his city and his wife slowly faded in the distance. Both continued to stand there long after they ceased being able to see anything.


	6. Chapter 5

Thanks for visiting once again. Please feel free to comment/review.

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**Chapter 5:**

The weeks passed slowly for Lya. The day after Alistair left, Zevran procured a map of Thedas for Lya and they traced the trip they had been told Alistair and the Wardens would take. The ship would sail from Denerim to Cumberland, where the party would disembark. They would then make for the Imperial Highway. Once there, they would follow it north through Nevarra until it split just past the Silent Plains, and then continue northwest. They were to stop at Vol Dorma to rest briefly and then head west to Weisshaupt. With the fresh horses as promised, they could make excellent time if they pushed. Allowing for a week at sea, they could hopefully make Weisshaupt in four weeks.

They didn't receive any confirmation of this until two weeks after Alistair left. A messenger arrived at the palace with a letter from Alistair. It had been sent by him when his party landed in Cumberland six days after they left. And while it was brief, it at least let her know the beginning of his trip was on schedule.

_Lya,_

_So far, so good. Calm weather at sea. No bandits or darkspawn sightings; I checked. The horses they have for us seem more than capable of the grueling pace Marlon intends to set, especially if we're changing them at every stop. Very well trained horses, too, I might add. The Grey Wardens have all been very polite. They remind me very much of how fondly Lady Isolde treated me as a child. Good times. I'll send word as I can._

_I'd forgotten how uncomfortable armor is to sleep in. And I let the Wardens know that I'd be more than happy to pitch in with the cooking duties. I figure I shouldn't let my skills get rusty._

_Love,_

_Alistair_

She smiled at his hidden references. To anyone else, the letter seemed like innocuous chitchat. But given the conversation they had the night before he left, it let her know they hadn't attempted anything yet. Lya hadn't expected them to, at least not until they got a chance to question him at Weisshaupt. But it was reassuring all the same.

The reference to Isolde was _not_ reassuring, however. Since Isolde was specifically known for her active dislike of Alistair, it meant the Wardens had dropped all pretenses once they left Ferelden. Well, at least he was confirming there was no hostile activity on the roads. And sleeping in his armor was probably prudent. She giggled slightly at the mention of his cooking though. They decided fairly early on to put Alistair on occasional breakfast duty. At least porridge was supposed to look grey and unappetizing.

Zevran quirked an eyebrow at her giggle and she extended the letter to him. He read it quickly and chuckled himself. "Oh, my. Are you certain Alistair is not _trying_ to get himself killed, my dear Warden?"

"Maybe he figures they'll be too sick to try anything," she replied laughingly. The laughter faded quickly though as she took back the letter and reread it. Moving to where the map was spread across a table, she marked off Cumberland with the date on the letter. She knew Alistair would send more if he could. He had enough money to pay for swift messengers, but each new letter would take longer to reach Denerim. She wouldn't get some of them until long after Alistair had hopefully left Weisshaupt.

They received a couple more letters from Alistair in rapid succession, clearly sent within days of the first. Lya faithfully marked the locations and dates on her map and observed that they were making good time. And then nothing beyond another two letters that arrived; one four weeks after Alistair left and the other nearly six weeks. The last one said they were less than a week from Weisshaupt and that hopefully he would be able to write more once he arrived.

The last letter had upset her. She had held it close to her and looked at Zevran worriedly. "By the time I got this, Zev, he had already been there for two weeks. He could have already been dead before this reached my hand."

Zevran had become concerned about Lya over the last few weeks. The strain of trying to juggle running a kingdom and her Warden-Commander duties was taking a toll on her. She was a strong woman, tough and resilient, but even she had her limits. He was already pushing her to hand most of the Warden-Commander duties to Nathaniel and Anders, but she and her damned sense of responsibility were resisting him. When Alistair first left, he had taken to sparring with her daily to help keep her focused and on her toes. They continued to spar, but he could see the fatigue setting in. She tired more easily and from the circles under her eyes, she wasn't sleeping well.

She looked like Alistair had a year ago when she was in Amaranthine dealing with the latest darkspawn threat. He had said as much one day while watching her pace. She had seemed surprised. _"Alistair worried about me like this?"_

"_Does that really shock you, my dear? The two of you are remarkably similar. You don't handle not being around to protect those you love very well. You should have seen him when he returned from telling you you were on your own."_ She smiled a little sadly at that.

"_I suppose you're right. I just got so used to being right there whenever one of you needed me."_ She sighed. _"I don't even know how the others are, Zevran. We get occasional messages from Leliana about how things are going in Orzammar, and of course from Oghren. But beyond that…."_ She hadn't heard from Wynne since that brief meeting in Amaranthine, and not at all from Sten or Shale at all since the company had parted ways after the celebration. Zevran knew she worried about them, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Plucking the letter from her hand, he laid it on the desk. "Come, my dear," he said. "Let you and I repair to the dining room. We both need something to eat and these maudlin thoughts do you no good."

She sighed and pushed away from the desk. "I suppose you're right," she said as she started to get up.

"But of course I am right, my dear Warden. One as perfect as I can hardly be otherwise," he jested easily.

But as Lya was getting to her feet, Zevran's voice suddenly became distant. She felt the blood draining from her head and her vision started to gray over. _I'm fainting_, she had time to think as she tried to keep on her feet. _I'm actually fainting._ And then her knees came unbuckled and she collapsed.

Zevran was looking at her as it happened and he realized instantly that something was wrong, even before the mabari by her side began to bark frantically. He was moving before he was even aware of it, throwing himself under her arm to break her fall and keep her from slamming her face on the desk or floor. He quickly guided her down into the chair and pushed her head between her knees. The door to the room burst open as the guards outside recognized Golanth's frantic tone.

By the time Lya came to, there were a half dozen guards in the room and Zevran was still holding her head down. She struggled against him to sit up, and he eased her back slowly. Still not letting her go, he gently grasped her wrist in his fingers feeling for her pulse. As he was doing that, he was checking her eyes intently, feeling her cheeks and forehead. Golanth pawed frantically at her, whining, and she tried to reach out a hand to reassure him.

Zevran snapped a few orders to the guards, and then swept Lya up into his arms. She was a couple inches taller than him, but he carried her as if she were a child. She started to say something, but he said, "Hush, Lya, not one word." And she fell silent. She was too disoriented to argue with him and somewhere along the way back to her rooms, she blacked out again. A pair of guards walked before Zevran with more following. They arrived at Lya's rooms and one guard opened the doors while others moved into make sure it was secure.

He moved towards the bed, depositing Lya down on it gently. Gently he removed the soft half-boots she customarily wore around the palace and deftly tugged the blankets from under her. And then as if she really were a child, he pulled the covers up and tucked her in. She was so pale. He turned to find Eamon bursting into the room.

"What happened?!"

Zevran motioned for the man to be quiet and pulled him away, both from the sleeping Lya and out of earshot of the guards. "I want a healer here now," he hissed. "We usually keep a mage or two around. Where are they?"

Eamon gaped at him for a moment before gathering his wits. "The mage usually in the palace is in Amaranthine at the moment. There was that accident with the new recruits and so he was called there." Zevran cursed silently. He had forgotten about that. A bunch of new recruits had gone exploring in the underground caverns and gotten caught in a collapse. The mages in Amaranthine and Denerim had all been called upon to heal the injured when word got out.

"How convenient. Then we need to send to Kinloch Hold for more, Eamon. Right now," he insisted.

Eamon's eyes widened. "Do you truly think it so serious?" he asked. "To send all the way to the Circle Tower doesn't seem excessive to you?"

Zevran glares at the older man. "I have been watching her get weaker for several weeks now. At first I thought it was just stress, but now I am not so sure." He gave the older man a meaningful look.

"Surely you don't think…? Poison?" Eamon seemed shocked, somewhat surprising for a man was had been on the receiving end of a poisoned chalice himself.

He nodded grimly. "I hope I am wrong, but if I am not…." He left it hanging, the implications clear.

Eamon snapped back into his normal take charge self. "I will dispatch a messenger immediately," he said. "Until then, she is not to be left alone. I will entrust her safety to you."

Trying to keep from rolling his eyes at the thought of this man telling him how to protect Lya, Zevran readily agreed. Eamon headed out the door, snapping orders to the guards waiting outside. Golanth settled himself beside Lya's bed, his entire attention focused on her and giving worried little whines. Outside the palace, a swift rider was being sent to Kinloch Hold requesting aid from the mages.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door. Zevran opened it quickly, ushering the slight figure inside. When Lya had asked him to stay in Denerim, he hadn't really known what he was going to do after he took a well deserved rest. That problem had been solved when he was approached by both Lya and Alistair with an unusual request. They needed eyes and ears in the city to keep them advised; people that could gather information and move unseen. They didn't want him to start a ring of assassins, but he had the ability to do what they asked. More importantly, he could train others. They made it clear that he would have full autonomy to operate as he wished.

The opportunity was too tempting to resist and Zevran had set about looking for those he could use. It was slow going at first, but he finally found and cultivated about a dozen he felt were suited to the task. Made up of humans, elves, and even one very cunning dwarf, they allowed Zevran access to whatever information he wanted as quickly as possible. Standing before him now was his best agent. Daevanya was a slight, waif-like elf with golden blonde hair and wide, innocent blue eyes. Appearances were deceiving however as he had felt both the bite of her tongue and blade before. He gave her a few quick instructions and she left silently. If Lya had been poisoned, he would hopefully know within a day or two.

Zevran pulled a chair over to Lya's bed and sat down, suddenly feeling older than he ever had in his life. Lya remained unconscious, her cheeks slightly flushed. He leaned over to touch them gently. Yes, she was running a fever. Needing something to keep his hands busy, he drew one of his daggers and took a whetstone from his belt pouch. If Lya had been poisoned, whoever it was would live long enough to regret it.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Alistair tried to remember the last time he had been so miserable and failed. He would rather spend a multitude of lifetimes living with Isolde before having to take another journey with these Grey Wardens again. Or maybe trying to stop another Blight with only Morrigan, Sten and the golem for company. That would probably even be fun compared to this. Andraste's flaming sword, he had never met a dourer, more humorless group in his life. To be fair, when it became clear that they weren't going to make any attempt to be more civil, he had started talking and hadn't stopped since. At first it had simply been to see how long it would take for them to tell him to shut up. But when that didn't happen, he did it just to irritate them. It certainly wasn't the smartest thing he had ever done, but Maker's breath, he couldn't _help_ it.

So it was with a great deal of relief when Weisshaupt finally came into view. It wasn't quite winter yet, but it was cold here. The land was rugged and stark; beautiful in its own way, but not exactly cheery. Marlon called a brief halt to confer with his second in command, a grim faced woman by the name of Bemia. When they finished talking he announced, "We'll pushing on in order to make Weisshaupt by tonight." and the party started off again.

None of his traveling companions seemed at all gladdened by this news. He wondered idly if they even enjoyed being Wardens. Maker help him if all the Wardens in Weisshaupt were like this. They wouldn't have to kill him; he'd probably throw himself off some tower out of sheer boredom. It wasn't until now that he fully appreciated Riordan's comments that he never wanted to go back to Weisshaupt. Well, at least he got that wish, Alistair thought, and immediately felt a little ashamed. That wasn't worthy of him. Riordan had been a good man and had tried to save both Lya and himself. He wondered if maybe the others were rubbing off on him.

As they got closer to the fortress, Alistair allowed himself to fall silent. He was going to be doing enough talking shortly that he should probably take a break while he could. He studied the fortress as they rode. It was big, with great soaring towers and arches. From a distance, it did indeed look impressive, but the closer they got, the less impressed he was. It looked…dead. There was no life, no warmth to it. People actually lived here? He shuddered at the thought.

He caught some of the other Wardens eyeing him. Did they think he was quiet because he was awed or cowed by the great aerie? Fine. It was probably better they thought him a simpleton. He certainly hadn't tried to give them any other impression over the last month. It galled him a little, though, when he thought about it. He wasn't stupid, he knew that, but it had never bothered him to pretend before. Why now?

Lya certainly had something to do with it, he knew. So did being king and having all that responsibility. He couldn't afford to look stupid with so much riding on him. But he thought it was more because of Duncan. He didn't want the Grey Wardens to think Duncan a fool for recruiting him, and then he wondered why he cared. Duncan was a better man, a better Grey Warden, than _any_ of these people. Duncan had recruited Alistair despite of his personality, and if Duncan had thought him worthy, then that was all that mattered. Maker take them, he didn't care what these Wardens thought.

Well, unless they decided to kill him because of it. That would be…bad.

The party came to a stop before the imposing doors to the fortress and they dismounted. One of the Wardens took the reins of Alistair's horse, and Marlon flung his at one of the others. Marlon gestured for Alistair to follow as the remaining Wardens took care of the horses. He led Alistair into the fortress and Alistair tried to take in as much as he could.

The inside of Weisshaupt was made of stone just as the outside was. Smooth gray stone, worn in places from centuries of use, seemed to stretch in all directions. The uniform gray was occasionally broken by various decorations. Weapons mounted here, a painting there, faded banners hanging from overhead. There were other Wardens in the hallways, some alone and some talking quietly. But as he and Marlon passed, they all looked. Whatever they were doing, they all stopped to take stock of their newest guest.

Reactions varied. Some of the Wardens remained impassive, not as much as an eyelid twitching as they evaluated him. Others though, mainly the younger ones, looked at him with wide eyes. He heard a few gasps, watched mouths drop open and in one case, saw a young man barely catch himself before beginning to salute. Their expressions showed something he had seen often enough just after the Blight ended. Awe. If this was how they felt about him, he could only imagine the reaction Lya would get if she were here. He could practically hear the vast clatter of metal that would sound as they all fell on their faces. He chuckled to himself. This could be useful, he thought. The leadership at Weisshaupt might already have their minds made up, but if he could get to know some of the others….

Marlon suddenly stopped in front of a door. "These will be your quarters, your Majesty. Someone will be along shortly to tend to any needs you might have. I expect the First Warden will want to see you in the morning. Get some rest." And he stalked off down the hallway.

*** * ***

Osric watched Marlon slam into his office with private amusement. The man was positively enraged, not doubt due to the company of the Ferelden king. What had the man done to rile Marlon up so much? Osric had chosen Marlon because the man was logical and kept a cool head. Usually. He would have to make note of this for his own dealings with the king.

"Marlon, please, sit down. You look tired." A gesture to a junior Warden waiting off to the side brought a tray with wine and food to the First's desk, and Osric waved the young man out of his office. Marlon bowed to Osric, deeply and respectfully.

"Ser, I have returned with the king of Ferelden, as you ordered."

"Excellent, Marlon, I knew you would not fail in your duty. Now, refresh yourself. You have had a long journey and there is still much to discuss yet." Osric rose to pour the man a goblet of wine and Marlon took it gratefully. He waited until the man had drained the goblet and then refilled it for him before again taking his seat. Steepling his fingers before him as he settled back into his chair, he gave Marlon a minute to settle in before he asked, "So, what is he like?"

"That man!" Marlon snarled. "I wish there was a way to undo the Joining so we could remove filth like that from our ranks! The man is a fool! He besmirches the very name of the Grey Wardens!" Osric was slightly taken aback by the vitriol. Their reports had indicated that this Alistair was not the most serious of men, but for Marlon to be this unbalanced by him…. This was very interesting indeed. Perhaps Marlon had not been the correct choice to send after all. And Osric had had such high hopes for him.

Sensing that Marlon would not be a good source of information at this moment, he changed topics. "What about the Commander? Did you get to meet her while in Denerim?"

Marlon calmed himself and frowned thoughtfully. "We did, though we tried to avoid it, per your orders. Our reports had not accurately gauged just how revered she actually is Ferelden. She is dangerous, ser." Marlon quickly retold the scene that had played out on the docks.

Osric listened carefully. "Do you think we should have brought her here instead of Alistair?"

Marlon thought before finally shaking his head. "I do not know. Normally I would say yes, as she is more dangerous to have in Denerim than Alistair would be. But she knows we are up to something. I think the implied threat to her husband's life might be the only thing keeping her feet nailed to the floor."

"And if something did happen to her husband?"

Marlon answered slowly, "If that were to happen, I think it might be best to reinforce the Fortress."

Osric laughed, the sound surprisingly free and easy. "Marlon," he chided, "be serious. No one has ever assaulted Weisshaupt. To even think such a thing is madness!" He laughed again, thoroughly amused by the idea until the saw the complete seriousness in Marlon's face. "You think she would?" he asked incredulously. "You honestly think she would attempt to bring war to our doorstep?"

"You were not there, ser. You have not seen her. She knows she has power and isn't afraid to use it. Considering the king, I have the feeling most of Ferelden's decisions are made in the royal bedchamber and not the throne room. She probably could answer your questions better than Alistair, but it would be more difficult to get those answers. Believe me when I say she _is_ dangerous. She all but threatened us directly on the docks. Her first loyalty is not to the Wardens, no matter what title she carries."

This was a development he had not expected. Osric suspected Lya was the true ruling force in Ferelden and that she placed that power first, but for Marlon to believe she would openly oppose the Wardens, so far as to threaten to engage them in battle, was enlightening. He would have to talk to the others, and to their new guest, before he decided his next steps. He rose suddenly, and Marlon hastily scrambled to his feet. "Go get some rest, Marlon. We shall talk more later. I need to prepare to question our guest." Marlon bowed again and left quickly. Osric stood for a long moment before sitting back down at his desk and began to write.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Alistair was quickly growing very bored with the routine at Weisshaupt. He had been there for three days and he considered it two and half days too long. His mornings were spent recounting exactly what he and Lya had done in the year before the Archdemon was slain. The boring questions, repeated over and over to make sure every detail was correct, were grating on his nerves. When he suggested that they could have simply asked for a written report, Osric had replied that they wanted a detailed first hand account taken by their own scribes.

Osric. Alistair didn't like the man. He hadn't liked the letter the man had sent and he liked him even less in person. He was a snake, cold and slippery and with eyes that couldn't be read. He knew Osric wanted to ask him what happened in that last battle, but he was trying to wear Alistair down first. He chafed as much as Alistair at what he saw as a needless delay. Oh, the irony of the situation. Alistair would have told him everything the first day, but no, he had insisted on this damn report. Well, he would get it.

With his mornings thusly occupied, the afternoons and evenings were his. But what was there to do? He had already explored the various libraries and monuments. The most interesting thing had been the monument to the other Grey Wardens who died defeating Archdemons. Four silent tombs to honor four Grey Wardens. Alistair had stood there for a long time, thinking how close it had come to being five; how close it had come to Lya being there alongside the others. He touched each tomb with a respectful hand, thanking those men for their sacrifice with quiet words, and thanking Morrigan in his heart for keeping it from being five.

After several more days of this, Alistair finally had enough. He grabbed his sword and shield and marched out of his room. The young Grey Warden who was assigned to him that day, and it seemed to be a different one each day, hurried after him. "Uh, ser, wh-where are you going?"

"I'm going to find somewhere to practice. I assume you _do_ have some place around here for training, right?"

"Well, yes, we do, but I don't know if that's a-" Alistair cut him off quickly.

"Excellent! Lead on, my good man! It'll be good to get some exercise and see what sort of training Grey Wardens get." The young man stood flustered. He had been told not to let the king wander around, but how exactly was he supposed to stop him? Alistair smiled at the dark-skinned man. "What's your name, by the way? I never got it earlier and it seems like everyday there's a different one of you helping me."

"Dario, ser."

"Well, Dario, let's at least you and I get some practice in. It must be boring for you to have to stand here all day with nothing to do." Alistair smiled charmingly at the man, his manner easy and confidant. Dario weighed his options. It couldn't hurt to go spar, could it? What trouble could the king possibly get in? He finally nodded and pointed down the hallway.

"This way, ser." Alistair smiled broadly and clapped the young man on the shoulder. The training yard was actually not far away and they found a number of Wardens practicing with various weapons. Some were shooting arrows at straw dummies down a long corridor; others were sparring with each other using swords and daggers or working forms against other dummies. Activity in the courtyard slowed and stopped as the men and women there recognized their visitor.

Alistair waved cheerfully to the people looking at him. They were for the most part fairly young, he noted; close to his own age or perhaps a little older. This might make it easier. "Don't let me interrupt. I just wanted a bit of fresh air and to work out some kinks. Of course, I'd love to spar against some of you, if you're willing to." They all looked at each other without saying anything. Finally, a young brown haired woman stepped forward. Like Alistair, she also wore a sword and shield.

"I would be honored to spar against you, your Majesty."

"Please, call me Alistair, my dear. No need to be so formal. Might I know your name?"

"Undine, ser," she answered with a slight bow. Her eyes widened as Alistair unlimbered Starfang from his back. "I-Is that…?"

Alistair looked at the sword in his hands, the swirls of magic in it glowing with the same pale blue fire as they always did. He was so familiar with the sword that he often forgot how it looked to others. He extended the blade to Undine. "Yes, this is Starfang. Here, give it a try."

Undine stared at him in shock. "Oh, no, ser, I couldn't!" Alistair continued to hold the sword out.

"Of course you can. Lya won't mind. Go on, give it a try." He smiled encouragingly at the girl, nodding as she finally took it from him. She nearly dropped the blade, expecting it to be much heavier than it was. She took a few steps away from the others and took a few tentative swings. As her confidence increased, so did the surety of her forms. The blue runes of the sword traced graceful arcs in the air, leaving after images that made it seem like Undine was surrounded by pale ribbons for a few seconds. She finally stopped and handed the blade back to Alistair.

"Thank you, ser. The blade is marvelous. I am honored that you allowed me to try it."

He laughed gently. "Anytime. I was taught that it's only polite to share your toys with others. Now, how about we get some real practice in?" She looked around at her fellows, and a couple nodded in encouragement. In an unspoken agreement, the Wardens surrounding them back away, forming a loose circle around them to watch as Alistair and Undine equipped their shields and began to circle cautiously. The girl was good, but still a little raw. Alistair could have overwhelmed her easily, but didn't. He wasn't trying to embarrass anyone.

After a few rounds, other Wardens began asking for a chance and Alistair found himself giving impromptu lessons; correcting a stance or showing how to follow through with a particular twist to keep your enemy down. The Wardens, who had been told to keep their distance, found it impossible to ignore Alistair's joking and camaraderie. He was a Grey Warden who helped to slay an Archdemon and defeat a Blight. His skills would have to have been good, but in person they were far more impressive than any story could tell. He was also an excellent teacher, correcting and showing gently without embarrassing them, and the Wardens warmed up to him.

This routine would continue for the next few weeks, and each day found more Wardens in the practice yard, hoping for a chance to spar against the king of Ferelden. Alistair was more than happy to oblige. He found these Wardens to be much like the ones he had known when he first joined, and he liked them. They were good people and none seemed to judge him. They enjoyed his company and began joining him at meals in the dining hall. For the first time since he arrived, Alistair didn't feel as if he were staying in a mausoleum.

From a window high above the practice yard, Osric watched. The Wardens who had escorted Alistair had all said the same thing about him, save one. They all said he was a fool who babbled constantly; that there was nothing between his ears but a yawning chasm and a desire to hear his own voice. Harva was the only one who disagreed. She had been a Grey Warden for fifteen years and was unusually perceptive.

"He is not a fool," she said quietly. "He may not be quite as sharp or dangerous as his wife, but he is perceptive in his own way. He knew what would irritate the others, and it _was_ irritating, but I believe he did it deliberately. I do not think he could have won the love of the Savior of Ferelden, nor been accepted by the Landsmeet if he really were stupid. And while in Denerim, it was apparent that they ruled equally. Alistair is not some puppet king who actions are dictated from behind the throne. He is respected by his people and it is clear that he cares about them. He has a natural touch with them, for lack of a better term; an ability to understand them. And the lords treat him the same way. There is no false deference to him solely because he is the king."

Osric was watching that now. He had underestimated the man, he saw that now. The Wardens down in the yard were practically in the man's thrall, he grimaced. Within days they had gone from being wary of him to practically worshipping them. No, that wasn't quite right. He was one of them, completely and truly. He treated them as equals and they responded in kind. Osric frowned. This was not turning out the way he had anticipated. Once he finished getting his answers, he was going to have to come to a decision, one that would not endanger the Grey Wardens or himself.


	9. Chapter 8

Zevran needs some lovin' now and again. ;)

Please continue to R&R.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Zevran walked back to his rooms tiredly. Lya's fever had broken and she was alert again. She seemed better, but that was to be expected after spending two days in bed. Kylon, the captain of the guard, had relieved Zevran, telling him to go get some rest, and Zevran had reluctantly agreed. He was no good to Lya if he was falling over himself from exhaustion.

He pushed opened the door to his room, not even surprised as the figure on the bed rose. "Dae," he greeted her, entering and moving to the wardrobe to get a fresh set of clothes. A towel and his toiletry kit joined the small pile of clothes. He would use the baths in the lower levels of the palace. He would fall asleep better if he were clean.

Daevanya fell into step beside him as he gathered his belongings and headed back out the door. She said nothing until they were down in the baths and she had made sure no one was around to listen. When she was satisfied, she leaned against the door to block it. Zevran stripped off the clothes he had been wearing for the past two days and sank gratefully into the tub. Daevayna watched him idly, her eyes lingering over his form appreciatively.

"Care to join me, my little one?"

"I think you're a little too tired for me tonight, Zevran. I like my men a bit more…vigorous."

He chuckled. He was definitely going to have to bed her. She was a tease, of course, but he had picked up on the signals she was sending a long time ago. He would have done it sooner, but he hadn't wanted Dae to feel pressured or for it to interfere in their master/student role. Zevran wondered when exactly he had picked that up. He had tried to grind the edges of nobility off Lya and Alistair and it seemed like they had rubbed off on him instead. Alas.

Lathering himself up, he glanced at the elf standing against the door, watching him. "So what did you find?" he asked.

"Nothing."

He looked at her in surprise. "Nothing? Come, Dae, we both know that things are never perfect. There must be something."

She sighed in frustration. "Of course it's not totally nothing. There's the usual plotting among the various factions, naturally, but it's all designed to further their own goals. We can't find anything specifically directed at the queen. If there is something behind this, it's from outside the city, probably outside the country. If that's the case, then our chances of discovering anything are slim." He nodded slowly. That made sense.

"Keep looking. If it is from outside, there should still be traces, though they will get harder to find with each passing day." He finished washing, and hurriedly dried off and got dressed. He was tired. Sleep would be good. Dae accompanied him back to his room and they discussed more of what he wanted her to do as they walked.

Daevanya simply nodded at his final instructions, but instead of heading back out as Zevran expected, she remained standing in his room. He raised an eyebrow.

"You're not to be left alone. We discussed it and decided that someone needs to guard the guard."

"You think I need protection? How you wound me, my dear."

She made an annoyed sound. "You're an excellent teacher, Zevran, but you forget your own lessons sometimes. Right now, you are really the only one that can truly protect her. If something happens to you, what chance does she have?"

Zevran muttered curses under his breath. Perhaps when Alistair returned, he would leave for awhile. All these political games were beginning to wear on him. "So you are to watch over me? I am most fortunate indeed to have such a lovely protector."

"Indeed," she repeated dryly. "Now go to sleep. Your little shadow will keep you safe." There was something in her voice, the angle in which she held herself, the way she looked at him. It all told him that even if he ordered her out, she wouldn't comply. So no longer master and student then? Well, if they were to be equals…. He was tired, but not _that_ tired.

"_Mia piccolo ombra_, is it?" He crossed the room to stand in front of her, leaning towards her but not quite touching. "And tell me, how is _mia ombra_ going to protect me when she is all the way across the room from me? I think I might feel safer if my protector spent the night, shall we say, closer to me."

Daevanya tilted her head back to look up at him, her eyelids sliding halfway shut as she began tugging Zevran's shirt out of his pants. "Do you really want to talk, Zevran?" she asked throatily.

"No. In fact, talking is one of the last things I want to do with you right now."

"Then shut up."

*** * ***

Zevran and Eamon were going over recent happenings while Lya sat in a chair before the fire in her sitting room. The bed rest had been good for Lya; she looked better, though still not entirely well. The third day after her collapse she had insisted on getting up, but they were restricting her activities to listening to reports and making less crucial decisions. Eamon had quite firmly taken over most of the necessary duties Lya had been taking care of for Alistair, and Zevran had taken over her Grey Warden duties. He had been with her often enough in Amaranthine that he knew what needed to be done without asking her too much. And he really wasn't going to be doing the work, just sending orders for Nathaniel to take over.

They were wrapping up the things they needed to discuss together when there was a knock and the door opened to admit a winded guard. "Your Majesty! My lords! Mages…you said…let you know…as soon as they arrived!" he managed to gasp out. Eamon and Zevran exchanged a glance. They had only sent a messenger five days ago. There was no way help from the Circle could possibly have arrived yet. The missive might have made it to the Circle by now, but for a party to have made it back to Denerim?

"Thank you, lad, but I could have brought the message myself," said a gravelly voice as First Enchanter Irving entered behind the guard.

"First Enchanter!"

Lya stood up from her chair and moved to greet the elderly mage, but Zevran quickly stepped over and guided her back down. She started to protest and he whispered into her ear, "Do not argue with me, my dear Warden, or you shall find yourself back in your bed. And there you will stay, even if I have to tie you to it."

Eamon was shaking hands with the mage, and after greetings had been given all around and everyone settled back down, Eamon asked, "How did you respond to our message so quickly, Irving? We had not expected to see anyone from the Tower for at least another week."

Irving nodded. "It is a most fortunate coincidence that I am here, my lord." He looked over at Lya and smiled. "I did not mean fortunate for you, your Majesty. I apologize for my words."

She waved off his apology. "Please, Irving, there's no need. I understand what you meant. So why are you here if not in response to Eamon's and Zevran's pleas?"

"Quite honestly, I was already coming here to ask for your help in a certain…delicate matter that has come up in the Circle. It concerns a mage that we need to place somewhere besides the Tower. Since you and Alistair have made sure we have more freedom than we did before, things have been better, but there are still _situations_ that we find we cannot quite handle on our own."

Lya was curious. She and Alistair had pushed for the mages to have more freedom, if not complete autonomy. They believed that if you didn't treat people as prisoners, they were less likely to turn to extreme measures to break out of their prison. Templars were still needed, of course, but the mages now had a level of privacy and freedom they had not known before.

"Since your Majesties have been gracious enough to allow a mage to live in the palace at all times as a sign of good faith, we were hoping to fill that position more or less permanently. We have a mage, a very talented healer, who cannot remain at the Tower any longer."

"What do you mean?" Zevran asked bluntly. "If this mage is too dangerous to be kept at the Tower, why would we even consider keeping them here?"

"No, no, you misunderstand me. She is not dangerous. That is not the problem. Here, let me bring her in and we shall attempt to explain." He went to the door and beckoned for someone to enter. As he returned to his seat, two people entered the room. One was a red haired mage and the other a tall man in leather armor. Zevran would have expected a templar, but unless the uniforms had changed, this man was no templar. Irving gestured to the mage. "This is Shayelyn Emorin." The mage bowed respectfully to Lya. "And the gentleman is Kaden Emorin, her husband." The man also bowed respectfully, ignoring the raised eyebrows and shocked looks.

"Your…husband? But, how did you convince the Chantry to marry you?" Lya bit her tongue at her complete lack of manners, but neither seemed to take offense.

"We lied," Kaden said blithely, grinning at Shayelyn. "You'd be remarkably surprised at how normal mages look when you take their robes away. And even more normal when you put regular clothes on them."

"I'm really getting to old for this," Irving muttered under his breath. "So this is why we need your help, your Majesty," he said. "It makes the other mages uncomfortable and we have no desire to part them."

"Indeed," Shayelyn agreed. "What Irving fails to mention is that they've yet to build a prison that can keep me in or Kaden out. It would be easier on everyone if we didn't have to resort to all this sneaking around."

Irving sighed wearily. "And so you see our problem. I choose to look at it as a fortuitous turn of events. You are in need of a resident healer and I am in need of a residence for a healer. I do not ask for an answer now, but seeing as how you requested a healer, I think it is a good time for you to get to know them."

Lya looked at the couple and they returned her gaze. Neither seemed intimidated or cowed. They simply looked relaxed and happy; maybe even a bit excited. Lya sensed nothing duplicitous or deceitful, but it might not be a bad idea to have Zevran keep an eye on them.

She finally nodded. "All right. We'll see how it goes."

"Then in that case," Zevran interjected, "I think the mage should begin upholding her end of the deal right now. We want a full examination of the queen."

Shayelyn nodded. "Of course. I shall be more than happy to help in any way I can." She flapped her hands in a shooing gesture at the men. "Now out, all of you." Eamon, Irving and Kaden immediately rose and went for the door, but Zevran merely crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Shayelyn pointed a finger at the door. "Out," she directed Zevran.

"Oh, I do not think so. I take the queen's safety very seriously. I think I will stay while you examine her to make sure nothing happens."

Shayelyn crossed her arms and a stubborn look settled on her face. "It appears we are at an impasse then, because I am not going to give the queen a _thorough_ examination while there are others present. It wouldn't be proper."

"Zev, please," Lya said. "I will be fine. I think this is ridiculous anyway. I was just sick, but I will do it if it makes you feel better. If she doesn't want anyone else in the room, then it's fine with me." Zevran looked ready to argue, but he didn't want to wear Lya out any more than she already was. He finally moved to the door.

"Fine. But if anything happens to her…." Shayelyn waved off his warning with an impatient gesture and closed the door in his face.

Outside the room, the men waited uncomfortably. The only one completely unbothered was Kaden, who just leaned against the wall looking bored. The minutes dragged on into an hour before the door finally opened and Shayelyn came out. She smiled at them. "She is fine. I can detect no trace of poison and there aren't any lingering effects from her illness. And it appears to have been just that. A combination of pushing herself to her physical limits for several months and an inordinate amount stress and anxiety. Couple that with not enough food and rest and it simply weakened her enough for a fever to catch hold.

"You've been doing an excellent job this last week in lessening her workload, and I would strongly recommend that you continue doing so. She will get stronger, but it will be a while. It took time to get her into this state and so it will take time for her to fully recover. I will check on her at least twice a day, though, to make sure. A relapse at this time would not be a good thing. And while I can and will use magic to help speed her recovery, it would be best if her body does most of the work."

Zevran nodded. He would need to tell Dae to have this Shayelyn and Kaden watched, but for now he would take her at her word. If she lied, she would pay for it.


	10. Chapter 9

Angry Alistair is angry. Feedback about the pacing of this chapter would be helpful. Not sure if it's too rushed.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Alistair leaned back in his chair and fell silent. He had just finished recounting what had happened when he and Lya had spoken to Riordan at Redcliffe. The two scribes in the room were writing down his words and waited for him to continue. When Alistair continued to sit there in silence, Osric looked up from the sheets of paper in front of him. "And?" he asked.

"And now we come to the part that everyone is so curious about," Alistair replied calmly. Osric's manner instantly changed. With an abrupt gesture, he sent the two scribes out, leaving only himself and Alistair in the room. He studied Alistair for a moment before telling to guard outside the door to summon someone. In a few minutes, two mages entered the room, neither one of them sparing him more than a glance as they entered. They were both older, a female elf whose black hair was graying at the temples and a thin, ascetic man who was almost completely bald. They seated themselves and looked at Osric.

"Continue," the First Warden gestured.

Alistair shifted in his seat, crossing his arms. He hadn't been looking forward to this and wondered if he could get through the story with blushing like he had when he told Zevran. "Right, well, Riordan finished telling us that one of us was going to get to die and we went to bed. Not that I thought I was actually going to sleep, mind you. I had a lot on my mind." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "I was pacing in my room, actually, trying to figure out what we were going to do when Lya came in."

He grinned. "I was glad to see her, as I'm sure you can imagine. But that didn't last long." Alistair looked up, squinting at the ceiling. "You've never met her, so it's hard to explain. Lya gets this look on her face whenever she's making a big decision or has to do something unpleasant. I'd gotten to know it quite well during the last year, and it was not reassuring when she came in looking like that.

"I told you about Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds who was with us, right? Anyway, Lya said that Morrigan had a way out for us. A ritual that would prevent a Grey Warden from being killed when they Archdemon was slain." Alistair leaned forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. "In order to do this ritual, Lya needed me to…participate." The change in his demeanor and tone immediately perked the two mages up. They, too, were leaning forward, listening intently and Alistair shifted uncomfortably again.

"So, long story short, Lya asked me to sleep with Morrigan in order to conceive a child. The child would bear the taint, and through the ritual, when the Archdemon was slain, the soul of the Old God would be drawn to the child instead of killing whoever struck the final blow. And I did it," he finished simply.

He looked up to see three identical expression of shock on the faces of the other Wardens. The silence filled the room until it was almost unbearable. Finally Osric looked at the mages. "Is that even possible?"

Alistair snorted. "Well, since Lya and I are still alive, I would say yes, it is possible."

Osric shot him a furious glance. "I am not talking to you. Do you have any idea what you may have done?"

"Do you?" Alistair shot back. "Tell me, First Warden, what may have I done? I know what I did do. I helped end a Blight without losing any more Grey Wardens than necessary. I made sure that even if Lya and I died before getting to it, anyone could slay it and it would still end the Blight."

"You fool!" Osric ground out. "You arrogant, blind fool! Don't sit there and pretend you did this for the Grey Wardens! You did it for yourself! You, in your selfish cowardice, made a decision you didn't understand and we might all have to pay for it!"

Alistair felt the anger rising in him and he slowly got to his feet. "If it comes to that, we will deal with the consequences. Lya and I. If there must be something done, we will do it. We have not shirked our duty before and we will not do it in the future."

"Never shirked your duty?! If you truly wanted to do your duty, you would have died in Denerim. But no! Instead you were too besotted with some whore to think ab-!" That was as far as Osric got because Alistair was suddenly moving. In a single fluid movement, he crossed the room, grabbed Osric and threw him against the wall. The man hit with a resounding crash of armor. As Alistair was picking him up to pin him to the wall, he heard the male mage begin to cast. Without stopping to even think about it, he called upon his templar training and released a burst of draining energy at the man. The mage collapsed to the floor, clutching his head and Alistair shot a glance at the elf. She was still sitting in her seat, arms crossed, and making no move to cast. She didn't even look angry. In fact, she looked…curious?

Osric was beginning to struggle and Alistair refocused his attention on the man. Gripping him by the throat, he leaned into the man's face and growled, "Now, listen to me carefully because I am only going to say this once: If you insult my wife again, I will kill you." Osric was clawing at Alistair's gauntleted hand, his face turning an alarming shade of red. Alistair was powerfully aware of how much bigger, how much younger, how much stronger he was than the man in front of him.

"Your Majesty," said a quiet voice behind him and he turned. The elf was regarding him calmly. "I think the First Warden might be better able to listen to what you have to say if he is conscious." Alistair turned back to Osric and released him with disgust. He stalked away, needing to get as far as he could away from the man. Osric slowly regained his feet, gasping and rubbing his throat. The mage was also coming back to his senses, but didn't look like he was going to be able to cast anything anytime soon.

"Tell me, _First Warden_," Alistair sneered, "when was the last time _you_ watched a Blight slowly destroy your land? When was the last time you passed farms and villages that had fallen to darkspawn? Have you seen what they look like? The bodies desecrated and ruined, left to rot if they weren't eaten first. Having to look at the faces of women and children who died in agony and fear as their last minutes were spent in the hands of things their worst nightmares couldn't begin to conjure." He swallowed convulsively, willing himself not to be sick as those memories came back. He focused instead on his anger at the man in front of him.

This man, this weak, spineless man had the gall to judge him; who thought he could tear him from his life, the life he had fought for, just because he didn't like it. He would be damned if a man such as this took everything he loved from him. He went on, his voice flat with rage. "You know _nothing_! Have you ever even been to the Deep Roads? I have. I know what's waiting for each of us down there, and I think you will meet your death screaming in fear." He felt his lip curling in contempt. "Do not talk to me of duty, Osric. There is only one Grey Warden still living who has ever upheld their duty more than I have, and I would die a thousand deaths, face an Archdemon every day for the rest of my life before I will _ever_ let any harm come to her."

Alistair was suddenly so sure that he was never supposed to return to Denerim alive. He knew it with every fiber of his being. Osric, for whatever reason, had decided that whatever they had done needed to be punished. "And tell me now, Osric, how were you planning to kill me? What was going to happen to me on my way home? What message would you send to Lya to remind her of her place?" He heard a gasp. The elf was sitting straight up in her chair, looking at Osric in disbelief. So, not all the senior Wardens were in on it. That was something, at least.

Osric was glaring at him in rage, the outline of Alistair's gauntlet etched on his throat in vivid red. Alistair got a grip on his anger, forcing it away. He called upon his templar discipline to calm his mind. He wrapped the lessons of the last two years of being a king around him. Drawing himself up, he recalled all those lessons on regal bearing and was grateful for it now. The change was impressive. He stood tall in his armor, his face cold as he looked at Osric. He was in control of this situation now. It wasn't going to last, but for this moment it was he who would dictate what happened.

"Before you make any hasty decisions, let me tell you what will happen if I don't return to Denerim exactly as I left. First, everything we know about the Grey Wardens will be released to the public. And I mean everything. The Joining, the taint and what it does to us, how an Archdemon is slain, the shortened lifespan that ends in the Deep Roads, all of it. Secondly, the Grey Wardens will be banned from Ferelden. Again. And the reasons why will also be told to everyone. How much support will you find in other courts then? How many will trust the Wardens if they fear for their lives?"

Osric was looking at him in horror. "You will destroy the Order! If that ever got out, there would be no Wardens. No one would consent to it. They would fight rather than be conscripted."

Alistair smiled coldly, thinly. There was nothing of the smiling, charming king in him now. "I know. This is why you should consider what you're going to do very carefully. And I haven't even gotten to the most important reason yet. If I don't return home, Lya will come for me. If you don't believe that, you truly know nothing of her. If you're the least bit doubtful that she could do it, read through everything I've told you about how we fought the Blight. We did all that because _she _had the will to do it and see it through. And others will follow her. You'll wake up one morning to find an army outside, Osric, with her at its head. The last time that happened, an Archdemon died. Do you think you would fair any better?"

Alistair took a deep breath. "I think I have overstayed my welcome at Weisshaupt. I will be leaving in the morning. I do not think we should speak again. Just remember, I _am_ a Grey Warden. I have no desire to do what I've threatened. I do not want to do it. But if you force the issue, I will. Think about it." And he left the room. The guards outside were staring at the door, hands on their hilts of their weapons, but Alistair just looked at them coolly. They made no attempt to stop him as he made his way back to his room. Once the door was securely locked, he sank down onto the bed, his hands shaking. It had been an ugly scene, but he was done at Weisshaupt. He was going home.

Back in Osric's office, the elf was directing the guards to help her fellow mage back to his quarters. Osric sat slumped at his desk, disbelief that things had gone so wrong written on his face. She felt no sympathy for him; he deserved it. "There is something you should remember, First Warden."

"Oh? And what is that?" he asked thickly, looking into brown eyes so similar to the ones that were promising him ruin and death minutes ago.

Fiona shrugged a shoulder. "He is his father's son," she said simply, and she left.


	11. Chapter 10

I want to thank everyone for the really great response to the last chapter. It feels good to know that what I write resonates with people, and that the characters are believable enough to touch people. Please, please the feedback coming.

Author's Note: I said in the beginning I would keep this as true to the lore as could, except for certain exceptions. This chapter is an exception, but one that I feel you will forgive me for.

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**Chapter 10**

"Zevran, enough! Just enough already!" Lya snapped. "You've had a constant watch on me for two weeks and _nothing_ has happened. I haven't had a single minute alone since I passed out. You are making too much of this and I need some time by myself!" She was so frustrated with this whole situation. She knew Zevran was just doing his job, but he was doing it far too well at the moment. She lowered her voice, trying to keep the angry edge out of it. "Please, Zev. I just need some time alone. I'm not even going to leave my room. You can wait right outside the door if you want, just let me be alone for a little while." She looked at him pleadingly, trying to make him understand.

He looked at her for a long moment, before shaking his head angrily and gathering his papers. "In that case, I'm going to take the rest of the day off. I will see you in the morning." He walked out of the room without a backwards glance, shutting the door behind him harder than necessary.

Lya sighed. What was wrong with her? Zevran was her friend and had done so much for her, and she was being a child. He was only concerned about her. She had been so moody and off balance lately. Was it lingering after effects of the fever she had or something else? She wasn't normally susceptible to the mood swings some women had every month, but it happened sometimes. If that was it, she hoped her cycle would just start already so she could get it done with.

Suddenly her eyes shot open and her hands flew to her mouth. Her cycle! How long had it been? She thought back frantically to the last time she had had one. How long? Her mind raced as she thought. Amaranthine, she suddenly remembered. It had been in Amaranthine. That's what had made one of her last weeks there so miserable. She hadn't had a cycle in two and a half months, and in all the worry and stress she hadn't even noticed.

She flew across the room to floor length mirror, shedding clothes as she went. She stood before the mirror, naked as the day she was born, looking at herself sideways. Was she seeing what she thought? Yes, she was. A slight roundness in her lower abdomen; a firmness there that was more than muscle. She fell to her knees as her legs became suddenly unable to support her.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her heart racing as she fought against the urge to be sick. The night before Alistair left, there was no other possibility. She had been pregnant for two months and she hadn't known it. Oh, Maker, what if she had hurt the baby with her stubborn pride by trying to do too much? She had never been so scared in her life, and she had never wished so desperately for her mother.

Golanth came over and whined softly, trying to ease her distress. She threw her around his neck, leaning on his huge body for support. He panted happily, wagging his tail and giving her face a swipe with his tongue. Something was wrong with his mistress, but he was making it better. She sat there for a long time, holding onto her oldest friend as thoughts raced through her mind. She was so absorbed that she didn't hear the knock on her door.

"Lya?" Shaye's gentle voice brought her back to reality. Shaye had poked her head in the room when she didn't get a response to her knock. She saw Lya kneeling on the floor, hugging her mabari with her clothes in a trail across the room. She slipped into the room and shut the door. She went quickly to the queen's side. As soon as she was kneeling beside her, Lya flung herself into the mage's arms, the tears already falling.

Shaye rocked Lya as she cried, shushing her with soft soothing words. Eventually, the tears slowed and stopped, and Shaye gently smoothed Lya's hair back into place. "Hush, it's all right, Lya. Everything's going to be all right." She gave Lya a crooked smile. "I guess you've finally noticed, then?"

Lya stared at her in shock. "You knew?" she gasped. "You knew and you didn't tell me? How could you? What if I had done something to hurt…?" She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.

"I suspected, Lya. I wasn't sure, but I thought this might be the case. I didn't want to give you false hope. And I've been watching out for you. I would never have let you do anything to hurt yourself or the baby." She helped the young queen get to her feet. "Come, let's get you dressed and we can talk about it." Lya dressed slowly, still dazed. When Shaye made sure she was safely sitting, she went to the door and asked the guard if he could please have a servant bring some tea and something to eat.

A servant was at the door in minutes and Shaye took the tray, gently but firmly preventing the elven maid from entering. She poured Lya a cup of tea and added a few herbs from a pouch on her belt before pressing it into her hand. "Drink, Lya, it will make you feel better." Lya drank almost absently, the hot tea and herbs immediately relaxing her. Shaye pressed her to finish the cup, and when it was empty, poured her another, without herbs this time. Shaye poured herself her own cup and sat back waiting. Lya would talk when she was ready.

Eventually, Lya looked up from her tea into the calm gray eyes of her newest friend. "What am I going to do, Shaye?"

Shaye laughed softy. "Well, I would say first we might need to think about finding a suitable nursery, start looking at names, maybe even start knitting some booties."

"No, that's not-!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, Lya, I was only teasing. Friends can do that, can't they? You want to know what you should do about the baby. Well, first I would say just make sure you get plenty of food and rest. I'm not saying stuff yourself or take to your bed, mind you. Just don't skip meals or stay up too late trying to do work. Listen to your body. When it tells you something, do it."

Lya nodded. "That makes sense, I guess. Are you sure I shouldn't spend more time resting? I pushed myself so hard earlier…?

Shaye laughed gently. "No, Lya, I'm sure. Excessive rest would probably do more harm than good. In fact, I would suggest making sure you got some light exercise everyday. Perhaps not sparring like you're used to, but working with the forms and motions and some vigorous walking would be good."

"But won't that…? I don't know. Wouldn't that be bad?"

"You're healthy and strong, Lya. Remaining that way will be better for both you and the baby. None of those things will hurt the baby. If you feel like you can't handle it, just stop and we'll find something else. But I don't think either of those will be too taxing." Lya absorbed her words thoughtfully, her mind beginning to get used to the shock and starting to react normally.

Shaye phrased her next question carefully. "Lya, is there anyone you want to tell? Anyone you want to know about this?" Lya's eyes flew back to meet hers before she shook her head.

"No. I want…I want to tell _him_ first. I don't want you to say a word to anyone, Shaye! Not a word!" Lya was suddenly terrified that it would all be for naught; that Alistair would never come home, that he would never know he was going to get to be a father.

"Very well, Lya," she agreed. "I have no problem with that. But if you wait too long, you will have to tell people. It's not a secret you can keep forever, you know."

Lya looked down at the vest, loose shirt and soft pants she normally wore. She was suddenly grateful that these outfits didn't reveal her figure very much. She grinned crookedly at Shaye. "But I can still keep the secret for awhile, right?" Shaye laughed again softy.

"Of course, Lya. I'll even help you alter your pants so we don't have to trouble any of the maids and start any unseemly gossip that the queen is getting fat."

The women shared a chuckle before slipping into silence. Lya's thought were wandering again and Shaye let her think. Lya finally looked back at her and her eyes were a little scared again. "I want Wynne, Shaye. You've been very kind to me this last week or so, and I truly have come to think of you as a friend, but I want Wynne." Shaye looked sympathetically at the younger woman. Lya had almost no family and Shaye knew Wynne was the closest thing to a mother she had left. Shaye didn't even know if the elderly mage still lived, but she would try to find her for Lya is she could.

"I will do my best, Lya. Truly, I will. But even if we cannot find her, you will be fine. You've come through far more difficult things than this." Lya nodded at her reassurances, but when she looked away her eyes were still troubled.


	12. Chapter 11

I don't normally update on Sundays, but I am full of tasty Easter desserts and decided to gift you all a small treat. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 11**

Zevran had just finished sealing his response to some minor lord in the Bannorn when Daevanya slipped into his room. A sensuous smile curled his lips. She had turned into a most delightful bed partner. He was looking forward to when circumstances allowed them time for more leisurely pursuits. Right now, Dae was looking at him with a gleam in her eye, a ghost of a smile on her lips and her hands held behind her back.

He set aside his parchment, pens and inks and looked at her. "More good news for me, _mia ombra_?" he asked.

"Of a sort. I wanted to let you know there's a ship coming into port."

He laughed. "Well, Denerim _is_ a port city, my dear. It is only if ships stopped coming into port that I think we should take notice, yes?"

"Indeed. But this ship happens to be flying a rather interesting banner." He stopped putting away his things and looked at her. "In fact, the banner rather looks like it has two mabari with a crown on it. And when one uses a spyglass, there appears to be a well armored man on this ship…." She brought her hands out from behind her back as she said that, revealing the spyglass in them. Zevran snatched it from her hands and went to the window quickly. Luckily, his study faced the harbor. The palace was a fair distance from the docks, but the ship was fairly close to port. There was indeed the royal banner flying from the top of the mast. And, yes, pacing on the deck was a man in familiar glittering armor.

Zevran snapped the spyglass shut and spun on his heel. Stopping just long enough to plant a teasing kiss on Dae's mouth, he whispered, "I think you and I shall have some celebrating of our own to do later." She chuckled wickedly into his mouth and nipped his lower lip lightly in an unspoken promise.

He went quickly to Lya's rooms. He had been giving her more space since she had gotten mad at him. She had apologized for her behavior the next day, but he had ruefully admitted she was right. With no sign of a plot against her, he was being over-protective. The mage Shaye had also taken over some of the work in making sure she didn't overtax herself. They spent a lot of time together now, and Zevran wondered if Lya was just lonely for the company of another woman who treated her as an equal.

He found Lya alone at the moment, reading up on legalities concerning a minor dispute between two banns. She looked up as his entered and smiled warmly. "Zevran! You know, I'm starting to miss you. You really don't have to stay away so much, you know."

"Ah, my dear Grey Warden, do you not know absence makes the heart grow fonder? I am hoping that if I stay away enough you will simply throw yourself into my arms when I finally do return and save me the trouble of having to seduce you." She laughed and Zevran found that he was very glad that he was going to get to deliver this news.

"So what do you want from me today, Zev?" she asked lightly. "Do you need more funds for poison? Or perhaps you would like to raid the armory for some sharp pointy things?"

"Actually, Lya, I came to let you know that you'll need to make ready to welcome a very important person."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Who? We're not expecting anyone, at least not that I know of." She shuffled through some papers on her desk. "I know Arl Teagan was planning on coming to the capital, but that's not for a few weeks yet. And there were some ambassadors coming from Rivain next month. But other than that I can't think of anyone."

"No, none of them, my dear."

She continued looking through her papers to see if she had missed some vital piece of correspondence. "Then who? "

"Alistair."

Lya's hands went very still on her papers and she looked up Zevran with such hope that it made his heart ache. He wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever be able to handle living with a love that ran that deep. "Zevran, really? Are you sure?" she whispered.

He walked over to her and sat her back down gently before she fell over. "Yes, I am sure. And before you ask, no, you cannot go down to greet his ship. There are already crowds forming and it would be too difficult to try and protect both you and Alistair in that situation. Let me go and get him and you can greet him most properly here." To his surprise, she did not argue with him. She just looked at him with a ridiculously happy expression.

"That's fine, Zev. I understand. You'll fill him in on everything, right? I don't really want to waste time doing that when he gets back." He laughed wickedly as she blushed suddenly.

"Ah, I would have thought that with the amount of time you and Alistair spend in bed, you would be over that particular embarrassment." She only blushed harder. "Such an innocent you are!"

"Out, Zev!" she cried, pushing him to towards to door.

"As your Majesty commands," he teased, sweeping in a low bow and backing out of the room.


	13. Chapter 12

Enjoy the fluff while it lasts!

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**Chapter 12**

Alistair paced impatiently as the ship slowly made its way into the harbor. The afternoon was getting late and he wanted to be off the damn ship already. He had departed Weisshaupt the morning after his confrontation with Osric as he vowed, and the man had not tried to stop him. Alistair had not even seen him again. The Wardens he had trained with were there to see him off, however, and some of them made up part of the retinue that escorted him back to Denerim. The elven mage had also seen him off.

She had taken his hand solemnly. "Osric will not attempt anything, your Majesty, at least not for a while. For now, you and Lya are safe. But remain on guard. He will not forget this." She had looked at him, her eyes both sad and wistful. "For what it's worth, I am glad you accepted this Morrigan's ritual. The Grey Wardens ask a lot of their members, and the burden seems to fall especially heavy on the young. You have a chance so few of us do, and I don't think most of us would blame you for taking it." She had let go of his hand then, but before she stepped back, had embraced him in a quick hug. "Be happy, Alistair, and damn the rest," she whispered fiercely. It wasn't until they were on the road that he realized he never found out her name. He thought about asking the other Wardens, but decided not to bother. He was done with Weisshaupt. Let the Wardens there live their lives and he would live his.

And now he was coming home. These had been the longest three months of his life. The banner on his ship had been spotted and crowds were beginning to form. He searched the docks for a sign of someone he knew. Surely someone would have informed the palace that he was coming back. His eyes finally located Zevran and he looked for Lya, but didn't see her. Slowly, ever so slowly, the ship finally docked and he practically hurled himself over the side onto the pier.

Zevran was right there to greet him and Alistair was so thrilled to see a friendly face that he pulled the smaller man into a rough hug. Zevran was startled for a moment, but returned the embrace, grinning at the stupidly happy expression on his friend's face. After a minute, he rapped on Alistair's armor. "I am quite happy to see you, too, my dear Alistair, but you _are_ wearing armor and I am only a frail elf."

Laughing, Alistair released him. "Sorry, Zev. Guess I just got excited."

"Ah, if three months apart is all that it takes to get you that excited, then I shall have to make immediate arrangements to depart for a year or so!" Alistair just laughed. Right now, Zevran could say just about anything and he wouldn't care. It felt so damn good to be home.

He looked around, searching for the one face he really wanted to see. "Where's Lya? I thought she would have come down."

Zevran nodded. "She probably would have, but I forbid her to. As I told her, it is too difficult to keep both of you safe in a crowd like this."

Alistair smothered his disappointment because he knew what Zevran said made sense. Waiting a little while longer to see Lya would be manageable. He turned to the Grey Wardens who were disembarking. "My friends, you are more than welcome at the palace. I need to get back, but take your time. I will leave instructions for you to be given quarters." The Grey Wardens nodded their thanks and began arranging to get their things from the ship.

Zevran began guiding Alistair through the crowd to his waiting escort. He noticed the Grey Wardens who accompanied Alistair back were vastly different than the ones sent to fetch him. He looked at Alistair seriously. "It appears I am not the only one with important things to discuss. Come; let us get off the docks. I will fill you in with all that has happened as we ride."

They swung up onto their mounts, and as they moved through the crowds towards the palace, Zevran told Alistair what had happened in his absence. When he got the part where Lya had collapsed, Alistair's hands tightened on the reins, causing Adair to snort and sidestep. Before he could get angry, Zevran leaned over and grabbed his arm. "Easy, my friend. It was more than a month ago and she has recovered. Eamon and I have been handling much of the more stressful stuff. She is…fine." His hesitation over the word caused Alistair to look at him sharply.

"But what, Zev? What aren't you telling me?"

Zevran sighed. "Truthfully, Alistair, she is not quite back to her old self. I cannot quite put my finger on it. She is…more reserved, for lack of a better word. She has been spending a lot of time with the mage, though, so perhaps it is just that I do not see her as much as I am accustomed to."

"The mage…." Alistair said slowly. An old fear, a product of years of Chantry training, reasserted itself. People could change after being around a mage if that mage was a maleficar.

But Zevran was already shaking his head. "No, Alistair, I know what you are thinking and that is not it. I had her and her husband watched very closely. There has been absolutely no sign of any blood magic. Besides, our dear Grey Warden trusts her, and I think we have both learned to trust Lya's instincts, no?"

Alistair nodded ruefully. Zevran was referring to himself, of course. Alistair had objected, strongly, when Lya let him live and took him with them. In the end she had been right, but it took Alistair awhile to see that.

They were approaching the palace now, and members of the staff were coming out to greet them. Alistair dismounted, looking around. He barely even registered the greetings and well-wishers around them. And then she was there, coming through the doors. Lya spotted him and her face lit up. Then she was flying down the stairs to meet him, and he was taking stairs two and three at a time to get to her faster. They met somewhere in the middle and Alistair was lost in her. Around them the crowds erupted into cheers, but neither one of them noticed.

Lya couldn't believe he was back. She ran her fingers across his face and through his too long hair. There lips met, broke apart and met again. She was laughing and crying all at the same time and her heart was beating so hard she thought she might pass out. He was really here. His warm brown eyes, the soft lips, the strong arms crushing her against him. He was holding her too hard, just like he had their last together and she didn't care. He was here and alive and it was glorious.

And she was going to get to tell him. The thought of it made her giddy. She was grateful he was wearing his armor. It would keep him from feeling the bump that was getting harder to hide. It was all she could do to keep from telling him right here, but she wanted her secret to be _their_ secret first.

A discreet cough at their side brought them back to reality. "Your Majesties," Zevran said wryly, "I think perhaps we might wish to move the reunion inside lest we tarnish your reputations before the masses." Lya couldn't stop her giggles and she started back up the steps, tugging at Alistair, but Alistair had other ideas. In one smooth motion, he swept her up into her arms to carry her into the palace. There was a cheer from the crowds again and Lya settled herself against Alistair's armored chest.

He carried her all the way to their rooms before setting her down. He kept looking at her as he walked, looking for some sign of the illness Zevran had spoken of, but he didn't see it. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. She seemed almost radiant with joy. The disquiet that had lodged in his heart at Zevran's words evaporated.

When he set her down, she tugged him inside. The door was barely shut before he began trying to get his armor off, haste making his hands clumsy. Lya laughed again and helped him. When the last piece fell clattering to the floor, Alistair reached for her, but Lya danced lightly out of reach. "All in good time, my love. First you need a bath," she teased as she pointed to the high tub set against the wall. Alistair sighed theatrically.

"As ever, your desire is my command." He stripped off his clothes with relief and looked over at Lya with a wink. "Would you care to join me?"

"Alas, no, my husband. I think that would only delay things. You need a haircut and some food. And then we need to know what happened at Weisshaupt. Once that's done, then we can get down to business without worrying about distractions."

Alistair sighed mournfully. "Slave driver," he muttered. Lya dragged a chair over to the tub to sit behind him and rolled up her sleeves. Grinning playfully, Alistair motioned as if to get her wet and she shrieked and darted away. "Don't, Alistair! I just got changed. And if I have to get changed again, we're never going to get anywhere."

"Oh, we'll get somewhere…."

"I swear, you do that and you can scrub your back yourself!"

"Fine, fine!" he agreed and started lathering his hair. They were behaving like children, Lya thought to herself. The euphoria of being back together after a long absence and mortal peril made them crazy. It had been like that after she got back from dealing with the Architect, too. She was very much looking forward to tonight.

Lya regained her seat and set about scrubbing and massaging Alistair's back. He groaned aloud in pleasure, just absorbing the feel of her hands on his back as she eased weeks of strain from it. He caught one of her hands as it came back up to his shoulder and brought it to his mouth to plant a soft kiss inside her hand. She giggled and blushed as his tongue slowly teased her palm. Unable to stand it any longer, she jerked her hand away, and bracing herself on his shoulders, leaned down to kiss him again. When he would have moved to take hold of her, she leaned back. "Uh-uh, don't want to change clothes, remember?"

"You are a cruel woman, my love." She handed him a towel as he stood up. As he dried off, she looked through his wardrobe for suitable clothes for the evening. When she had found something, she set them on the desk and pushed him down into the chair. Picking up a pair of scissors, she set to work trimming his hair. It was a ritual they had developed after he confessed to having a minor obsession with it. She was very careful, however, not to lean in too close. She did not want to spoil the surprise through a careless touch.

As she leaned forward over him to cut the front of his hair, Alistair had a marvelous view. He chuckled, "I always like this part best." He reached forward to cup one delectable breast gently and she jumped.

"Alistair Theirin! Unless you want to end up bald, you stop that right now!"

Gaping at her in mock horror, he held his hands behind his back. "All right, all right, I'll be good! I promise." He did his best to put on a solemn apologetic face and she collapsed into giggles again.

Finally managing to finish, Alistair shrugged into his clothes while Lya collected most of the hair into a towel. The maids would be in later to clean up, but she didn't want it strewn everywhere around the floor in the meantime. There was a knock at the door and Zevran's voice drifted though, "If you are both presentable, dinner is waiting." Lya opened the door and Zevran saw that both were dressed and ready. He clucked his tongue. "I must confess I am most disappointed in the two of you."

"Come on. I know we're all dying to hear what Alistair has to say. Lead on, Zevran."


	14. Chapter 13

Tissues, ladies! Moved to 'M' for tasteful sex scene.

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**Chapter 13**

They went to a small dining room where Eamon was waiting for them. Alistair suddenly found himself ravenously hungry as soon as he smelled the food. He hadn't had a meal this good since he left. The others let him get at least one helping in before starting to ask questions. Eamon knew Alistair had been summoned to Weisshaupt to answer some questions about the Blight and the Archdemon, but not about the specific reason. Alistair stepped carefully around that by simply calling them 'Grey Warden secrets' and the man was tactful enough not to press.

He told the story as completely as he could. He told them about his impressions of the different Wardens, about how regular Wardens viewed Lya and himself. He talked about the feel of Weisshaupt, and when he described the tomb of Garahel and the others, Lya's hand gently squeezed his knee under the table; her eyes solemn. They were the only two who could truly understand what the final moments of those Wardens' lives must have been like. "I would have liked to see it," she murmured.

But Alistair shook his head. "It is a sad place, Lya. There is honor and glory there, but no real love, no real sense of loss. If you must mourn them, mourn them here," he said tapping his chest above his heart.

When he got to his last meeting with Osric, Eamon and Lya both choked. "You assaulted the First Warden?!" Lya managed to get out. Eamon sat there looking pole-axed. Zevran meanwhile made a satisfied sound and looked at Alistair approvingly. Alistair raised an eyebrow at his beloved.

"And what exactly would you have done, my dear?"

She opened her mouth and then shut it. "I would have done the same damn thing," she muttered. "Well, at least you didn't stab him. I probably wouldn't ever be able to get the smell off the blade." He grinned at her.

They finished dinner slowly, asking idle questions which Alistair did his best to answer. The decision was made that any of the Wardens who escorted Alistair wanted to stay in Ferelden, they should rotate between Denerim and Amaranthine. Alistair wasn't sure Osric wouldn't recall them, but as he had allowed them to leave in the first place, he probably wanted them gone.

Conversation slowed and Eamon and Zevran, seeing that they were losing the attention of the king and queen, stood up. "We can talk more in the morning," Eamon said. "You've had a hard trip, lad. Best you get some rest." Zevran gave a wicked chuckle and the other man looked at him in annoyance.

"Of course, Eamon," Lya assured him. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later." Alistair took her arm and led her out of the dining room. They were quiet as they walked back to their rooms and he wanted to ask if everything was all right. Lya had become increasingly distracted throughout dinner and she seemed oddly nervous as she walked beside him now.

"Lya," he began, but she stopped him with a shake of her head.

"Wait, Alistair. Wait till we're back in our rooms." She looked at him, an odd plea in her eyes and he nodded. Was this what Zevran had been talking about when he said Lya wasn't back to her old self? What was wrong? He knew something was wrong. Maker, he had just gotten back and already things were going wrong again?

When they reached their rooms, he opened the door and ushered Lya inside. She entered silently and when he would have put his arms around her, she ducked out of the way and went to stand before the window. Frowning, he followed her. She was nervous, wiping her hands on her thighs and biting her lip. He took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to look at him. "Lya, what is it? What's wrong?" he asked, concern clearly evident in his voice.

Lya wondered what in Andraste's name was wrong with her. She had been waiting a month to tell him this and all her carefully prepared words seemed all wrong now. She shook her head. "No, it's…. Nothing's wrong. It's just that I have to tell you something and I don't know how."

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's fine. Take your time." She opened her mouth several times, and shut it just as many. The words wouldn't come. Finally she reached up and took Alistair's hands in her own, looking down at their fingers laced together. Unable to find the words, she settled for simply placing his hands on her abdomen.

For a moment Alistair didn't understand what she was doing. Then his brain kicked in and he understood what he was feeling under his hands. He looked down at them, at the way his hands molded her loose shirt over the roundness of her belly. Maker's breath! His eyes flew back up to hers, to the deep green eyes that seemed so huge in that perfect face. "Lya!" he managed to gasp out. "A-Are you…? Is this…? Y-You're-!" And she nodded at him, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. He stood there, his fingers stroking her stomach softly as his mind reeled.

He hadn't thought this possible. It seemed such an impossible thing that he never dared to let himself hope. He knew they were unlikely to ever have children and he didn't care. It had never changed how he felt about Lya. He knew in the back of his mind that it bothered her, but it had never really mattered to him. But now…. His mind suddenly filled with images of a family for them. What if it was a girl? A little girl with Lya's eyes and her laugh. Or a boy? A small dark haired boy running through the palace with a mabari puppy at his heels.

Lya's hands gently closed over his and he could see the tears hovering in her eyes. "I haven't told anyone," she whispered huskily. "I wanted you to be the first to know. Well, Shaye knows, but she's different. I wanted this to just be ours for a little while." Her breath hitched and a single tear tracked down her cheek. "I was so scared you weren't going to come back. That I was never going to get to tell you. That you would never know you were going to get to be a _father_."

Alistair understood what she meant. He had sired a child with Morrigan, but he would never be a father to it. He would likely never even see it. But now, with the woman he loved more than he ever thought it possible to love someone, he was going to get that chance.

Very carefully, oh so carefully, as if she were made of spun glass, he took her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He kissed her with infinite tenderness, his hands sliding under her shirt to caress her breasts. She responded with a sigh, lacing her hands behind his neck to pull his mouth tighter to hers and arching into his hands. He suddenly froze and she pulled back to look at him in confusion.

"Uh, Lya, can we…? I mean, I don't want to hurt…anything. A-Are you sure…?" She laughed throatily.

"Oh, yes. I asked Shaye. She says we _can_ as much as we like as long as I'm comfortable."

A wicked gleam entered his eyes. "Oh, good. Because you and I have spent far too much time apart lately and I think we might just stay in this bed for the next week."

"I think I would like that."

Gently, he removed her clothes piece by piece until she lay pale and perfect in the moonlight. She went to help him with his, but he leaned back out of reach and did it himself. And when she reached for him, to begin running her hands over him, he caught her wrists. "No," he murmured, restraining her gently. "Not yet. First, let me…." And he didn't finish because his mouth was on hers again, tongue sliding in and out, teasing her.

His hands wandered her body, stroking and exploring. His mouth left hers to travel down her body, making her gasp. Slowly and carefully, using hands and teeth and tongue, he loved her. "Alistair," she moaned, and he chuckled wickedly, his breath hot against her skin. Her hands balled into the sheets below her as her back arched and her hips twitched. He brought her so close to the brink before moving away to start all over again.

A low moaning sound came from her throat and she thought she would go mad. Just when she thought she couldn't stand anymore, he would move, turning his teasing to another part of her body throbbing for attention. Finally unable to stand it any longer, she reached for him, hands grasping and tugging him over her. He knelt carefully between her legs and she wrapped them around him. Slowly, with all his concentration focused on being gentle, he entered her. And stopped. She moaned again, moving against him.

He began to move slowly, still reaching down to kiss her and caress her. She would get as much pleasure from him tonight as he could possibly give her if it killed him. He felt her legs tighten around him, heard her cry his name as her climax came. He held still as she moved beneath him, waiting until she came back down before beginning to move yet again. It took all of his control to bring her back to the edge and he was literally shaking with the effort.

Her hands wandered over his sweat slicked arms and back, cupped the back of his head, fluttered over the muscles of his chest and abdomen, wrapping around and tugging on his hips. And when she moaned again, "Alistair…Alistair, _please_!" he was unable to wait any longer. He gave one last thrust, burying himself in her as deeply as he could. Her name was a hoarse cry into her shoulder.

How long they lay like that, they didn't know. Slowly the shudders that shook them both slowed and sweat dried, cooling them off. Eventually, Alistair opened his eyes again to look at Lya. Their arms and legs were entangled as they lay in each other's arms. Her lips were puffy and her eyes were soft with pleasure.

Lya stretched slightly, every nerve still tingling and even the feel of the sheets rubbing against her skin was enough to make her shudder. She reached out to lightly trace his cheekbone. And then her hand moved lower, gently dragging her nails across his nipple and his arms closed around her. "Had I known," she whispered raggedly, "that getting pregnant would do _that_ to you, Alistair, I would have done it a long time ago."

He couldn't help the laugh that burst from him. He nestled her against his chest, brushing his lips across her temple. "I love you," he whispered softly. "I will always love you, Lya." Another brush of his lips. "I love the idea that we're going to have a child, but it has nothing to do with how I feel about you." He pulled back to look at her. "It has never mattered to me, you know that. Whether we have one child or one dozen or none, I will always love you. I don't want you to forget that. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. And this," his fingers stroked her stomach gently, "is just more joy, but I would love you just as much without it. You are the only family I have ever needed, ever wanted, Lya."

His throat suddenly felt thick. He had never had a family, never had someone who just loved him for being Alistair, who accepted him, faults and all. And then Lya came, and that lonely little boy inside of him who only ever wanted to be loved finally wasn't alone anymore. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would make sure that Lya knew how much he loved her and that the child growing within her would never know the loneliness he had known.

His arms tightened around her again, and she cradled him against her as he cried. She knew he cried for all the things he never had. All the goodnight kisses, all the hugs from loving arms, the gentle words that made hurts go away, soft hands tucking him into a warm bed or soothing a fevered brow. Her heart ached for him. He was a man grown, a hero and a king, and all he had ever wanted was for someone to love him. His birth caused his mother's death, his father never acknowledged his existence, his guardian sent him into exile. At every turn, Alistair had been rejected, and he was still the most loving man she had ever known.

It staggered her. How did someone with his life turn out so _good_? And how was she lucky enough to have found him? Her own eyes burned with unshed moisture and she stroked his head and arms, wanting to give him everything he never had. Slowly, his shaking stopped and his breathing deepened. The moonlight shone upon the damp skin of his cheeks as he slept.

Softly, she stroked his face and hair and arms as she had that terrible night three months ago when she feared she would lose him forever. And just as she had that night, she whispered into the darkness again.

"Thank you."


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Alistair sought out the mage the next day. He woke before Lya, and slipped out of bed carefully. She was sleeping so deeply that he didn't want to wake her. He got cleaned up in the baths downstairs, grabbed something quick to eat and decided he should meet this mysterious mage.

Lya had given Shayelyn and Kaden guest rooms in a separate wing until they figured out where they should be placed. His knock on the door was answered by Kaden, who opened it wearing only a pair of pants. "Uh, hi," Alistair said a bit awkwardly. "I was hoping to, er, speak with your…wife?"

The man regarded him for a moment before stepping back and gesturing for Alistair to enter. Looking around, Alistair saw the mage sitting on a settee reading a book. She looked up as he entered and placed a slip of paper in the book to mark her page. "Your Majesty," she greeted him, bowing.

"Mage, uh, Shayelyn," he replied. She laughed gently.

"Please, your Majesty, call me Shaye. I don't like to stand on ceremony."

"Oh, good, that's a relief. Just call me Alistair, then." She laughed and smiled and Alistair found himself liking her. She reminded him of what a younger Wynne might have been like.

Shaye turned to her husband and pointing a finger at the door said, "Out, Kade." He looked at her and grinned. He went to say something, but she held up a finger and wagged it at him. "Don't even say it." It was clearly a joke between the two of them, but as he was standing in their rooms, Alistair didn't take offense. Kade picked up a shirt from the back of a chair, dug a pair of boots out from under the bed and headed out. Once the door closed behind his naked back, Shaye turned back to him and gestured for Alistair to have a seat.

"You've come to talk about Lya," she said without preamble.

"Yes…."

Shaye nodded. "I thought as much. Let me be the first to congratulate you, then. I am extremely happy for the two of you."

"Thanks." Alistair wasn't sure what else you were supposed to say in this situation.

Continuing on as if she didn't notice his pause, Shaye said, "Before we get to any specific questions, might I propose an impromptu lesson on pregnancy?" Alistair felt himself flushing, but mumbled out an agreement. He probably _should_ know about this, after all.

The next hour was both one the most embarrassing yet oddly assuring time Alistair could ever remember. Shaye was completely forthright with everything involved in pregnancy and birth, describing things in dry, clinical terms. She went through all the changes Lya's body would experience and what changes might happen with her personality. She explained that all women were different, and there was no way of knowing what specific side effects they might see, if any. She was totally frank in giving him the details of what the birth would be like, and he wondered if he wouldn't have been better off not knowing beforehand. And then something occurred to him.

"Wait a minute, are you expecting me to be there?"

She regarded him levelly. "Yes, I am expecting you to be there. Why? You don't think you should be?"

"I, uh, well, it's just that…I didn't think men were, um, normally allowed in."

"Well, the final decision _would_ be Lya's, of course, but from what I know of her, I would think she would want you to be there, don't you?" He nodded hesitantly, and she shook her head faintly. "We still have six months before any final decision needs to be made, Alistair. Don't worry about it right now. Shall we continue?"

He was reassured by how calm and knowledgeable she was. She answered his every question, no matter how awkward or how much he blushed, honestly and with no sign of amusement. She was also brutally honest in explaining the possible dangers. All his embarrassment had vanished then.

"You're saying she could die?" Shaye looked at him sympathetically and moved from her chair to sit next to him on the couch.

"Listen to me carefully, Alistair. Lya is a healthy young woman. Her body is strong and well conditioned. She may be in the best physical shape of any mother-to-be I have seen. But there are still dangers. There are always dangers. You should know this. Your own mother…." She trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. Yes, his own mother; the serving girl who died after giving birth to him. And it wasn't just him, he realized suddenly. As he thought about it, he realized he knew a surprising number of people who lost their mothers when they were born. He went cold in fear.

"Alistair!" Shaye said sharply, reaching up to physically turn his face to meet hers. "Don't panic! Listen to me. I am telling you this because it wouldn't be right to lie and tell you there is no danger. But I believe the danger to be very small. This is why I've told Lya I want her to keep active. The stronger she is, the easier the birth will be. And the easier the birth is, the less chance for things to go wrong. I want you to focus on all the things that can go right and not what can go wrong. If you do that, it will steal all your joy from this and that would be more harmful than anything else. Do you understand me?"

Alistair nodded mutely, still not trusting himself to speak. The first stab of fear was passing and he knew he had to get it under control, if only for Lya's sake. Shaye patted his arm, but did not move away from him. She gave him a few minutes before asking, "Now, I expect you have questions that would pertain to only the situation you and Lya find yourselves in, correct?"

He looked down at her. "We're both Grey Wardens," he said slowly. "I don't know what you know about that, but I have no idea what it means for a child."

She nodded calmly. "The taint, yes. Lya told me what she knows about it, of course. She didn't seem to think it a terribly breach of security for the Royal Physician," she smiled crookedly at the title, "to know everything in order to ensure the Warden-Commander could be treated properly." She frowned thoughtfully. "If I'm going to be totally honest, I've actually looked into this on my own a bit. When Irving first approached me with this idea a few months ago, I decided it might be useful to find out what I could.

"There's not a whole lot of information, unfortunately. The best source would be Weisshaupt, but I was hardly in a position to write and demand answers. But if one digs enough, there is information to be discovered. I had Kade use some…contacts…to find more," she added delicately. "Is there anything specific you wish to know? I don't have all the answers, but I do have some."

"Will the child be tainted?" This had always been his predominant fear; bringing a child into the world already tainted, damned to a short life filled with nightmares.

"No. Well, at least not a child born with only one Grey Warden parent. I do not know about children born to two Grey Wardens. I cannot believe it has never happened in the more than twelve hundred years that there have been Grey Wardens, but I couldn't find anything on that. I wish I could. But if I had to hazard an educated guess, I would still say no, though. I think something like that would lead to strongly discouraging relations between Grey Wardens, but as far as I know, none have had a problem with you and Lya being intimate.

"Another possible side effect is that it may make the Joining easier for such a child. It could be like an immunity to poison. Being exposed to the taint in a small dose, either from the mother's womb or the father's seed, might be enough to grant extra resistances. When taking in the larger amount of tainted blood at the Joining, it could grant a higher chance to surviving. Again, I cannot say for certain, but I would not be at all surprised if that were the case."

He nodded slowly. It wasn't very reassuring, but it was better than nothing. He realized he couldn't think of any other questions about how being a Grey Warden might change things. He honestly didn't know a lot about the Wardens, and considering what had just happened in Weisshaupt, that bothered him. He stood up and turned to Shaye. "Thank you. I appreciate this, I really do."

Shaye also rose, and she took his hand between both of hers. "You're more than welcome, Alistair. If you have any other questions, you know where to find me." She walked him to the door. "Now, I expect you have a lot to do, so have a good day, your Majesty."


	16. Chapter 15

I realize these chapters may seem trivial, but I feel it's important to see the characters in normal situations. Bear with me, and enjoy the quiet, happy moments while they last.

AN: For those interested, the conversation between Lya and Eamon referenced at the end of the chapter is my 'Selfish Heart' one-shot. I would advise reading as it provides a little more background and insight.

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**Chapter 15**

Alistair walked back to his rooms slowly, mulling over everything that Shaye had told him. He was still thinking when he walked in, not really paying attention. Lya's voice startled him.

"Been talking to Shaye, love?" He jumped slightly and looked around. She was sitting at the table, picking at the remains of her breakfast.

"I- yes, how'd you know?"

"Because you look the same way I felt after I talked to her." He looked surprised at that and she chuckled. "Believe it or not, Alistair, I'm just as new to this pregnancy thing as you. Just because I'm the one having the baby doesn't mean I magically know and understand everything that's going to happen." She looked wistful. "I never talked about it with my mother. I always thought that if I eventually got married and had children, she would be there…."

She sighed sadly and Alistair sat next to her and took her hand gently. She never spoke much about her parents, but there were times he sensed she really missed them. This would be one of those times, he knew. He would do his best, but he suddenly wished Wynne were there. She was the closest thing he had ever had to a real mother, and she had filled that role for Lya while they were fighting the Blight.

Lya leaned back and stretched. She looked at Alistair and asked, "So, who are we going to tell first?"

Alistair thought. "Well, we should probably tell Zevran. Since he's sort of in charge of our protection, he should probably know." Lya grimaced and he gave her a questioning look.

"He's going to be mad at me. I know he's been worried about me, and I didn't tell him and it wasn't very fair of me." She shrugged. "He'll have to get over it though. I wanted you to know first and I am not apologizing for that."

He laughed. "I don't think he'll be too angry. We need to tell Eamon, too. Then I figure he can sort of let the information drift out. It'll probably reassure a lot of the banns in the Bannorn." She nodded and got to her feet.

"No time like the present, then."

Alistair told one of their guards outside to ask Zevran and Eamon to come to the royal apartments. Lya started to pace as they waited, both nervous and excited by finally being able to reveal her secret. There was also a great deal of relief that she wasn't going to have to worry about the bargain she had made with Eamon. It would probably relieve him a great deal as well.

Zevran arrived first and he wasn't quite sure what to make of his friends. Lya was clearly nervous, but Alistair just looked relaxed. Relaxed and happy. Zevran thought that was odd. Usually when one of them was out of sorts, like Lya clearly was now, the other was upset as well. Something couldn't be wrong or else Alistair would not be so calm, but something important was clearly going on.

Eamon finally arrived and took stock of the situation much the same way Zevran did. Alistair motioned them to both sit and pulled Lya down into the chair next to him. They looked at each other until Zevran finally cleared his throat. "I believe you called us here for something? The guards seemed to think the matter was fairly pressing."

"Yes!" Lya said immediately. "Well, yes and no. It's important, but I guess not really urgent. We just have…something we'd like to share with you." She looked at Alistair.

"Don't look at me. I don't know how to tell them. I would suggest that you not break the news to them the same way you did to me, though," he said dryly. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Thanks, Alistair. That really helps." She turned back to Eamon and Zevran.

"Then by all means, let us commence with the sharing of feelings or whatever it is you want to do," Zevran said in exasperation.

Lya said nothing for a minute, biting her lower lip, before finally blurting out, "I'm pregnant."

Zevran just blinked. Well, that explained a lot. He had never had much occasion to be around pregnant women, but he had heard they could be irrational. That would certainly explain Lya's behavior over the last month or so. He looked suspiciously at her midsection. He couldn't see anything with the way her loose shirt covered things, but it would also explain why he hadn't seen her in a dress in several weeks.

Eamon got up from his seat immediately. "Congratulations! This is wonderful news!" He embraced the couple, but paused a little longer with Lya, murmuring something into her ear. She nodded and murmured something in reply, but what it was, Alistair couldn't hear.

Turning to address Alistair, Eamon said, "If it's all right with you, your Majesty, I will inform the nobility. That should calm the more vocal of the rabble rousers." Eamon frowned as he said that. The king and queen had only been married for a little less than two years, and the lack of an heir wasn't all that surprising. But some of the Bannorn had been extremely vocal in their concern for an heir for a long time. He put it down to the banns simply wanting stability and order after so much chaos and uncertainty.

Alistair was saying something and Eamon hurriedly jerked his attention back to the conversation. "I think that would be fine, Eamon. We could make a formal announcement in a couple of weeks. Perhaps even hold a ball in celebration?" he suggested, shooting his wife a sidelong glance. She grinned at him and blushed a little bit. He knew how much his lady liked to dance and there had been precious little of it as of late.

"That would be just fine, Alistair," Eamon agreed. He looked at the glowing couple and felt an intense feeling of relief sweep through him. Lya's long-ago conversation with him had never been forgotten and he was grateful that their solution would not have to be used.


	17. Chapter 16

Alistair _has_ expressed a fondness for parties, and he should be very grateful Lya does not hold to her statement of wanting to see him dance the Remigold in a dress.

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**Chapter 16**

Alistair knocked on the door and pondered the absurdity of a king needing permission to enter his own rooms. For some reason, every time there was a ball, Lya insisted on getting ready in complete privacy. "Just a minute!" his wife called through the door and he tried to wait patiently. He paced outside the door, trying not to tug on the collar of his shirt. Lya had chosen his outfit; black breeches that fit snugly across his hips, a soft brown tunic shot with gold thread and a darker brown vest accented with maroon. Glossy knee high boots and his crown, polished to a gleaming finish, completed the outfit.

Finally, the door opened and his wife's maid Liadan slipped from the room. He entered and remembered why his wife liked getting dressed in private like this.

She stood in the center of the sitting room. Her dress was a deep, rich blue trimmed with gold embroidery. The sleeves were long, coming down to her wrists to protect against the chill in the air now that it was midwinter. The gown was gathered just below her breasts, disguising her growing waistline, and it trailed just a bit behind her on the ground. The neckline was decently modest, but left her neck and collarbones bare. Nestled in the hollow of her throat was the necklace he bought her for their wedding; a single ruby, carved to look like an open rose.

Her hair was shiny and smooth, and the ever-present braid had been woven with thin blue and gold ribbons. The delicate crown she wore rested gently on those dark locks. Liadan had taken extra care with Lya's cosmetics and his wife looked at him now from under smoky lids, a naughty smile playing about on her red lips.

He crossed the room to her and wrapped his arms around her carefully, brushing her forehead with his lips. "If I thought we could get away with it," he murmured, "I would take you to bed right now." Lya slid her arms across his shoulders so her hands could play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Oh? Then I suppose it won't help to tell you I ordered some new… unmentionables…for this occasion, would it?"

Alistair felt his mouth go dry and he groaned. He vividly remembered the first time she introduced him to what a lady's smallclothes were supposed to look like. They had been white and made entirely of lace, with thin delicate ribbons that tied at her hips. Lya laughed throatily as her lips brushed his. "They're very much like that first set I showed you. You know, the ones with the ribbons? If I recall correctly, I believe you untied them with your teeth."

He groaned again, unable to stop the involuntary reaction of his body at the memory of that night. Lya's laugh turned wicked and she pressed herself against him more firmly. "You are an evil, evil woman," he whispered in a strained voice.

"I know," she whispered back. "I suppose you'll have to find some suitable punishment for me later." She gave him one last kiss and stepped away to let him compose himself. He took several deeps breaths, calling upon his templar training to help him. When he finally opened his eyes, Lya was standing by the door looking completely innocent. Well, completely innocent if he ignored the blush on her cheeks and naughty gleam in her eye. Alistair opened the door and extended his arm to her. "My lady?

She slipped her arm through his. "Thank you, ser knight." And Alistair led his queen into the great hall.

The music stopped as they entered and the assembled nobles knelt or curtsied as they passed by. They mounted the steps of the dais and stood before the dual thrones. The nobles below them waited, the last of the murmuring conversations falling silent as they waited for the king to address them.

"My lords and ladies, I want to thank you for coming tonight." Alistair said in a voice that carried over the crowd. "I expect you've already heard the news, or noticed as the case may be," he stopped as a brief ripple of laughter fanned across the crowd, "but we've gathered tonight to celebrate a most joyous event." He turned and took Lya's hand with a smile. "Tonight I wish to formally announce that my wife, your queen, is with child with the heir of Ferelden!" There was a burst of applause from the crowd. Alistair waited for the applause to die down. "And now, let's continue with the festivities. Minstrels!" At his call, the music once again started up and Lya and Alistair took their seats as the crowd fell back into conversation and dancing.

Alistair watched his wife fidgeting on her throne for the first couple of dances. She was dying to go down to the floor herself, but she couldn't very well just get up and leave him behind. She kept throwing him surreptitious glances which he pretended not to notice. Finally, he relented and stood, offering her his hand, which she accepted with alacrity. "Well, finally!" she muttered as he led her down the steps.

The crowd parted to make way for them as they took their places among the other dancers. As the music started again, he whispered in her ear, "That'll teach you to tease me when you know I won't be able to put my hands on you for several hours." She giggled softly, her expression clearly saying that missing a few dances had been worth it.

Dancing was not Alistair's favorite pastime. He was passable, he thought, having received private instruction from Lya and Zevran. _That_ has been humiliating, he recalled wryly. No, his real enjoyment from it came from watching Lya dance. She loved it. Even now, she was light on her feet, working through the steps effortlessly. Her color was high and her eyes sparkled. She laughed frequently and chatted with whoever her partner was amiably.

After a few dances, he excused himself, leaving Lya in Eamon's capable hands. He moved off to the side to circulate with the other nobles. There were congratulations and Alistair received many warm handshakes and claps on the back. There were the unavoidable attempts to discuss politics, but he firmly refused them. It was a party and he had no intention of getting into any conversation more meaningful than the weather.

Eventually, he settled against a wall to watch his wife. She was currently dancing with Zevran, and while he might have once felt jealousy at seeing those tanned hands settle on her waist and back, he did not feel it now. She could laugh and smile with anyone right now because he knew when the night ended it would end with her in his arms. The night would end the same way it always had ever since that first night in a long forgotten camp; the way it would end for every night still to come.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Alistair was in the throne room, listening to a discussion on the state of the highways and how it affected trade. It wasn't his favorite subject, but he knew that the issue was important; that had become apparent after the Blight was defeated. The land had been devastated, and food was in short supply for that first year. There had been emergency stockpiles, but the state of the country had made it was difficult to get those supplies where they were needed. People had suffered needlessly because of it and Alistair wanted to make sure it didn't happen again.

The door at the back of the room opened to admit someone. Alistair looked up, and as the figure came closer, he realized it was Nathaniel Howe. He frowned; they weren't expecting any Wardens from Amaranthine and no word had been sent in advance. He stood up, interrupting the bann who was speaking. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but something has come up that requires my attention. I know how important this issue truly is. I would be more than happy to speak to you again at your convenience, hopefully as soon as possible." The three men in front of him initially looked insulted, but were mollified by his conciliatory manner.

Asking a guard to clear the room, Alistair stepped down from the dais to greet Nathaniel. The Warden knelt as Alistair approached and Alistair muttered under his breath. He helped Nathaniel rise and said, "You don't have to do that, you know."

"Prudence, your Majesty. There are still people in the room and it would be inappropriate for me not to greet you properly. Besides, I _want_ people to see it!"

Alistair was taken aback by the vehemence in the man's voice. Nathaniel was usually a calm, unflappable man, but something had his back up now. This didn't bode well.

"If you would, Alistair, please ask Lya to join us. This has to be done formally, I'm afraid." Alistair nodded and motioned to a guard. He waited by Nathaniel, though. He could do formal things without sitting on his throne. Lya entered a few minutes later, and Alistair thought she looked particularly lovely. She had taken to wearing gowns again once her pregnancy had been announced, claiming it was both easier for her and because it was an excuse for her to wear them. Today she was wearing a dark green gown that set off her eyes nicely.

Her face lit up when she saw Nathaniel. Alistair had nearly had a heart attack when she returned from Amaranthine with tales of her new friend, Rendon Howe's oldest son. He thought she had maybe been hit on the head one too many times while fighting darkspawn, but she assured him that Nathaniel was not his father. She had conscripted him, desperate for capable soldiers after the darkspawn attack on the keep. Nathaniel hadn't been happy about it, but he had stood by her side throughout that entire ordeal. As Alistair learned while they were fighting the Blight, his wife's judgment was usually correct about people.

He had been able to meet the man when he went to Vigil's Keep shortly after his return from Weisshaupt. He and Lya both agreed that at the very least Nathaniel and Anders needed to be apprised of the situation. In the end, they decided to tell Justice and Oghren as well, but swore them all the secrecy. The trip had given Alistair the chance to spent time with the others who had fought with his life. He had been impressed by all of them, though Justice was a bit creepy. Nathaniel had especially won his admiration, and he had been impressed by the man's commitment and dry humor.

As Lya drew close to them, Nathaniel knelt again and said, "Your Majesty." Lya paused midstride, her face instantly becoming sober and alert. This was _not_ how Nathaniel usually greeted her. As they were both active Wardens, he should have saluted her with a greeting of "Warden-Commander." She finished crossing to them and pulled Nathaniel to his feet.

"What's going on, Nate? What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry, Lya," he murmured and then took a step back. Reaching into the satchel hanging at his side, he removed a sealed letter. Extending it to her and speaking formally, he said, "It is my duty to inform you that you have been relieved of your duties as Warden-Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. The Grey Wardens thank you for your service and know that you will remain a faithful and honored member of the Order." He grimaced as he said the last part.

Lya took the letter slowly and just looked at the seal. Gray, with the image of a rampant griffin pressed into it. Her lips drew into a thin line as she broke the seal and read the letter out loud.

_To Her Most Royal Majesty, Queen Lya Theirin of Ferelden,_

_The Grey Wardens wish to extend their most heartfelt thanks for all that you have done in defending Ferelden and Thedas against the darkspawn. You have gone above and beyond the call of duty in defeating a Blight with few resources to call upon. You further proved your commitment to the Order in defending the Warden base of Vigil's Keep and the Arling of Amaranthine against renewed darkspawn threats. It is only due to your efforts that the city of Amaranthine was restored to its former glory and that Vigil's Keep will be returned to its former splendor in a few short years._

_Allow us to also offer congratulations on your forthcoming blessing. We know how important the line of Calenhad is to Ferelden and we are most pleased that it will see another generation._

_As such, we feel that it is only right that the Grey Wardens allow you to tend to your duties as the queen of Ferelden. Therefore, we do hereby formally relieve you of your duty as Warden-Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. A new Warden-Commander has been sent to Vigil's Keep to assume your duties. We know that the Wardens there will make him welcome._

_Know that you will always have a place of honor within the Wardens and that every member of the Order thanks you for your service and is grateful for what you have done._

_Osric_

_First Warden_

_Weisshaupt_

She looked up from the letter, her fingers tightening on it, but not crumpling it up. Lya finally shook her head. "Where are my manners? Nate, you've had a long trip. Come, let's get you settled in and find some refreshments." She threaded her arm through his and they chatted of inconsequential things are they walked to the rooms normally reserved for high-ranking visitors. She waited until they were seated and a servant had brought something to eat and drink before turning to Nathaniel.

"Who did they send?" she asked quietly.

"An Orlesian named Delano. He has…ideas about how the Vigil should be run."

"I see." Lya looked at Nathaniel gravely. "You need to be careful, Nate. I have the feeling that Osric is beginning to move against us, and that this Delano is only the start. And this is the perfect time." She glanced down at her stomach. "I'm hardly in a position to go riding off and challenge Osric's orders," she commented wryly.

That broke the tension somewhat and both men chuckled. "I know about keeping my head down, Lya. And I told the others to do the same before I left. Justice will be fine, but I don't know about Anders. You know how he can be. And then there's Oghren…." All three shared an understanding look. Oghren was one of a kind, which they were sometimes very thankful for. He was a loyal friend, but tact wasn't even in his vocabulary.

Lya sighed. "I know, I know. Just do the best you can. If Osric really is plotting something, we need people at the Vigil we can trust. _Do not_ give Delano any reason to send you away. If it comes to it, Oghren and Anders can come here, but I need you there, Nathaniel. Out of every Warden there, I trust you the most to handle this."

Nathaniel nodded in gratitude. "I will do my best, Lya," he said, "you know that. But what do we do if we get orders that…could jeopardize you or Ferelden?"

Lya ran her hands through her hair and sighed. She met Nathaniel's eyes steadily and spoke slowly. "I cannot ask you to ignore commands from the Grey Wardens. I am no longer your commanding officer and the Wardens are not subject to the Ferelden crown." She reached out and took Nathaniel's hands in her own. "Nor can I ask you to put your own life at risk; neither as my comrade or my friend. Do what you have to, Nate, but you are not beholden to me."

Nathaniel tightened his grip on her hands and looked over at Alistair, who nodded in agreement with what Lya said. He sighed in relief. "Thank you, Lya. You are a better, and stronger, person that the Wardens realize. Do not worry about me, or the others. We are _your_ Wardens, Lya. We will not let any harm come to you."

Her eyes widened. "Nate, no!" she exclaimed. "You're a Grey Warden, not my personal bodyguard or something. You owe me nothing. Don't single yourself out like this!"

He shook his head gently. "I owe you everything," he said quietly. "You didn't hold my father's crimes against me and you gave me a chance to redeem my family's name. You stood by and believed in me even when I said terrible things about your family and called you a murderer." He shook his head ruefully and glanced at Alistair. "You are a lucky man, your Majesty." Alistair just smiled and nodded his head. He was reminded every day how lucky he was when he woke up next to her. "And besides, Delano as already called us 'the queen's Wardens' to our face. He brought a half score of older Wardens with him to help build his base of support. He's trying to divide the Vigil. It's confusing the newer Wardens. They don't know where to stand on this. He wants to turn them to his side, and some might fall for it.

"We won't let him do it, though," he added fiercely. "Most of the men there are yours, Lya. Those men that fought with us, they are yours through and through, no matter what orders come from Weisshaupt or that Orlesian lick-spittle."

"Maker's breath, Nate! Do you know what you're suggesting?!" Lya seemed truly shocked at what he was saying. She knew the men liked and respected her, but Nathaniel was suggesting directly opposing Weisshaupt, of making themselves traitors to the Order.

"Yes, I do," he replied grimly. "And so do the others. If it comes to that, if this is really what the Wardens really are, then I don't think we'd be able to live with ourselves knowing we did nothing to stop them."

Lya shook her head ruefully. "Thank you, Nathaniel, truly. It means more to me than you can know. Let's just pray it doesn't come to that."


	19. Chapter 18

I need to start slowing down my release schedule, since I'm working on a complicated section and I'm running out of pre-written chapters. Switching to a M/W/F release. prolly gonna be putting up a new story for Tues/Sun release schedule. Not sure yet. But, please, continue to R&R! I enjoy hearing what you have to say, and all comments are welcome!

* * *

**Chapter 18**

The sound of a door closing nearly silently woke Alistair from his light sleep. He glanced at the bed next to him and saw that it was empty. So she was sneaking out again, was she? He wondered where she kept slipping off to at night and decided it was time to find out. He got up, hurriedly pulled on some clothes and opened the door quietly. The two guards were there like always and he held one finger in front of his lips, gesturing for them to be silent.

He motioned down the hall and quirked an eyebrow. The guard to his right nodded and Alistair padded silently down the hall on bare feet. He followed his wife stealthily, a feat made easier by the fact that she seemed to be preoccupied. He followed her through the hallways, staying just far back enough that she wouldn't hear him. She eventually led him to the larder and his curiosity grew. He peeked into the room and saw she was standing in front of a table cutting something.

Alistair tiptoed right up behind her and settled his hands on her shoulders. "Surprise," he said softly.

Lya let out a strangled scream, whirling around, the knife in her hands shifting to a more dangerous grip as it arced towards his throat. He threw himself backwards, desperate to get distance between them before the gleaming edge of the knife could part his flesh. She halted just in time, the knife stopping where his throat had been a moment ago. She looked at him in horror, the reality of what had almost just happened sinking in.

"Maker's breath, Alistair, _don't ever do that again_!" She nearly shrieked the words at him. "I almost killed you!"

"Yes, I noticed. Poor idea on my part, I suppose." He continued looking at the blade, and she lowered it with a shaking hand. "I wasn't trying to scare you, love. I apologize. But…what _are_ you doing? I knew you'd been sneaking off, but coming to the larder?"

She shifted uneasily and blushed. "I was…hungry," she finally said sounding slightly embarrassed.

"Hungry?" He guessed that was possible. She was eating for two after all, and as Wardens they already ate enough to feed a small army. But something in her manner told him she wasn't telling the entire truth.

"Yes, hungry. I'm sure Shaye told you that sometimes pregnant women are hungry for…certain foods. That's all this was. Come on, we can go back to bed now. For some reason, I've not very hungry anymore." Alistair glanced at the table behind her, but she was blocking his view of whatever it was she had been going to eat. He moved to look around her and she also moved, continuing to block his view. "Alistair, come on, let's just go back to bed."

Now he was curious. He closed the gap between them and she pushed against his chest, trying to get him to leave. He took her arms gently and moved her to the side, finally revealing the mysterious foodstuff that prompted the queen of Ferelden to sneak through the halls of the palace at odd hours of the night.

He looked back at his wife's scarlet face, barely able to contain the mirth that was threatening to erupt. "Cheese, Lya?" he asked mildly. Her face went an even darker shade of red of red and he wasn't able to hold back anymore. Great peals of laughter burst forth and he had to sit or fall over. Tears streams downed his cheeks as he tried to get himself back under control.

"I hate you!" she hissed spitefully and that set him off again. He pulled her into his lap and she sat stiffly, head turned away, trying to maintain a dignified pose. After a few minutes the laughter trailed off into amused chuckles and he wiped his eyes. His ribs and stomach hurt and probably would for the next couple of days. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed that hard.

"Aw, don't be mad, Lya. You have to admit it's funny. After all the comments about my unholy love of cheese, to find you here in the middle of the night craving the stuff seems to be the very definition of irony. Here," he said, lifting her and settling her on the bench in his place. He rummaged around until he found a loaf of bread and taking the knife she had set on the table, proceeded to cut several slices from the cheese wheel on the table.

She stared at the proffered bread and cheese for a long moment before finally taking it. She nibbled on them slowly as he took some of the food for himself. A giggle caused him to look up. Lya sat across from him, still looking faintly embarrassed, but with a smile playing on her lips and her eyes narrowed in laughter.

"I'm sorry, Alistair, I didn't mean to be so waspish. I'm not quite myself lately, and I didn't want you to laugh at me. So much for that plan." She laid on a caressing hand on the roundness of her abdomen. "I blame you, you know," she said tartly to the baby. She looked back up and took another bite of cheese with a satisfied sound. "I suppose we should enjoy this while it lasts, huh?"

He chuckled again and they sat there for awhile, eating quietly in the dimness of the larder. "Alistair, come here!" Lya suddenly said urgently and he moved to her side. She took one of his hands and laid it on her stomach, holding her hand on top of his. For a moment nothing happened, and then he felt the small kick under his hand. He uttered a small sound of surprise. "You should feel it from where I'm sitting," she said dryly.

He looked down at their hands as the baby kicked again. "I think he likes it," he joked.

"Yes, I suppose he does. Or she does. The baby always seems to be more active when I'm eating cheese for some odd reason. If this keeps up after the baby is born, we might need to get our own dairy farm." He laughed again, and then rose to put the leftovers away. Then he lifted her gently and carried her back to their bedroom. "I can walk, you know," she reminded him, lacing her hands around his neck. "My balance hasn't become so bad that I'm incapable of managing that."

He grinned at her. That was her main complaint so far, the way the baby threw her balance off. It galled her to turn too quickly and have to throw out a hand for balance or the take stairs slowly and not rush down them as she was so used to doing. "I know," he said, dropping a light kiss on her forehead. "But I like holding you, and this gives me an excuse to do it far more often." She sighed in contentment and snuggled against him. She rather enjoyed this part, too.

As they approached their rooms, the guards opened the door for them. Alistair nodded his thanks, entering the room and kicking the door shut with his foot. Outside the room, the guards returned to attention, small smiles on their faces as the faint sound of a giggle drifted through the door.


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

The next couple of months seemed to pass all too quickly. Lya and Alistair made the decision that the baby would stay in their rooms, at least in the beginning. Rooms next to theirs were being converted for a child, if for no other reason than to hold the influx of presents. Lya had chuckled at all the gifts of clothing. "We're going to have to give some of this away, you know." She gestured to the piles of carefully wrapped parcels and boxes. "I don't think we could use all of this if we had a hundred children." She held up a tiny pair of stockings. "I am glad for these, though. I never did have the patience to learn to knit my own."

Alistair took the stockings and looked at them. "They're so little," he said. "Will the baby really be that small?"

Lya gave him a long look. "You had better _hope_ the baby will be that small, all things considered." She placed a fond hand on her belly. "Well, maybe not quite that small, considering the way he's grown lately, but it will be close." She shifted in her chair. "I am really thrilled to be having a child, Alistair, believe me, but sweet Andraste, will I be glad when he's finally born."

He crouched down next to her chair, lacing his fingers through hers to rest on her belly. "You keep saying "he." Do you really think it will be a boy?"

She shrugged. "I don't know for sure. Call it a hunch. Though given the way he kicks, even if it is a girl, I think being a warrior runs in the blood." As if to punctuate her words, the baby kicked hard under their hands. She hissed slightly and frowned darkly at her stomach. "I wasn't aware you could bruise from the inside until now." He hastily swallowed a chuckle, but not before she turned her look on him. "I'm glad one of us finds it amusing."

Alistair brushed her lips with his. "Sorry, love. I didn't mean it. I'll make it up to you tonight."

"Mmm," she replied, tilting her head for a better angle, "I don't know. It might take a lot to soften my displeasure. Are you sure you're up to such a task?"

He kissed her a bit deeper, capturing her satisfied sigh with his mouth. "Well, I'm certainly going to try." He was just moving his hands his hands to slide around her back when a soft knock came at the door. With a groan he pulled away from Lya and hung his head. He knew he was the king, but it seemed like everyone needed his attention for everything these days.

Lya laughed softly and ran her fingers through his hair. "Yes, Shaye?" she asked over his head.

"Sorry for interrupting, but I have someone who would like to see you. I thought you'd rather meet somewhere private." Alistair rose to his feet as Shaye edged the door open further to admit someone.

"Wynne," Lya gasped softly.

Wynne looked at the both of them fondly, her hair just as white, a few more wrinkles on her face, and eyes just as kind as wise as they remembered. She moved into the room to stand before them and smiled at them both. "Hello, my dears. It's good to see you again."

"Wynne!" Lya said again, and struggled up from her chair to throw herself into the elderly mage's arms. As the woman's arms closed around her in a warm embrace, Lya burst into tears. Wynne held Lya, and looked past her to Alistair. He had privately admitted to Shaye to being a little disconcerted at how erratic Lya's emotions seemed to be, but she assured him it was normal. Wynne seemed completely unperturbed by Lya's outburst as well, and she smiled reassuringly at him.

Lya's outburst passed quickly, and she apologized for it. Wynne brushed it off with her usual good natured brusqueness. "There's no need, Lya. It's completely understandable." They sat down and the questions began almost immediately. Lya wanted to know what was happening with Shale.

"As far as I know, she's still in Tevinter," Wynne said. "The mages there may have come across some interesting research, but they want to proceed carefully. After all, if they err, Shale will be the one to pay the price. She seems content to wait, though, which left me free to continue seeing the world. And, of course, responding to this young lady's summons," she said, gesturing with one hand towards Shaye. Lya nodded in relief and gratitude.

Not surprisingly, the conversation quickly shifted to Lya's pregnancy. Alistair was a little left out as the three women dominated the conversation, and was grateful for it the further the discussion progressed. The stones of the walls and floors became absolutely fascinating as Wynne asked pointed questions about _all_ of Lya's physical activity. He could feel the heat creeping up his face, and risking a quick glance at his wife, saw that she was just as red.

Eventually, Wynne fell silent and just looked at the two of them. "Honestly, I cannot believe you are both still embarrassed by something like this."

Lya shifted slightly and mumbled, "That's what Zevran says, too."

Wynne laughed. "Well, I suppose he does have his moments, though I'm hardly surprised at the context."

"I'm going to tell him you said that," Alistair said, grinning at her.

"You do that, young man, and I might just take it upon myself to find out how much you really can blush."

Alistair coughed uncomfortably. "Right, well, I think we've just about exhausted this conversation. Let's move onto something else, shall we?"

Lya looked over at Shaye. "Would you mind letting us talk to Wynne alone for a bit, Shaye?"

"Not at all, Lya," Shaye replied as she stood. "I'll go make sure that Wynne's rooms are ready." Lya nodded her thanks and waited until the door closed behind the red headed mage.

"Wynne, I am really glad to see you, you must know that. But you have to know that I didn't really expect you to be…around. I know you said you didn't think you had much time left. Is your spirit…?" She left the question hanging, unsure of quite how to phrase it.

"Ah," Wynne said simply, nodding in understand. "Yes. To be honest, I did not expect to be around this long either." She sighed and said, "I haven't been using very much magic, lately. I don't know if not calling upon it has given the spirit a chance to rest or regenerate its powers, but it feels…stronger than it did right after what happened in Denerim. Or even that it did when we met in Amaranthine. I have the feeling any large amount of casting will probably drain it completely, but I've actually grown rather used to going without my magic. At one time I would never have believed that, but I suppose all things change."

"She should meet Justice!" Alistair suddenly burst out. Wynne gave him a startled look and Lya buried her head in her hands and groaned.

"Whatever are you talking about, Alistair?" Wynne asked in confusion.

"Justice. He's this spirit of Justice who got stuck inside the body of a dead Grey Warden…" Alistair started to explain. He trailed off as Wynne's expression turned flinty. "I, um, probably didn't explain that very well, did I?"

Lya started to laugh helplessly. "I don't think Alistair was trying to compare you to a corpse, Wynne."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no! I really wasn't!" Lya grinned at him. Alistair wasn't quite the same man that she had first met and traveled with. His duties and responsibilities had made him, for lack of a better term, grow up. He was more serious than he used to be, and though he stilled laughed and cracked jokes like he used to, the awkward bubbling Alistair was largely gone. She missed it at times, and was glad to see that that man still lay there under the surface. It gave her a whole other reason to be glad Wynne was here.

"Anyway, Wynne, if you're going to be here for awhile, you probably should meet him. He struggled with what happened to him for awhile. It might be good for him to talk to someone who has gone through something similar. Though, I should warn you, while his body has held up remarkably well, he _is_ still a corpse." She shuddered slightly. "I have nothing but the utmost respect and affection for him, but it is rather unsettling."

"I…see," Wynne said in a decidedly neutral tone. Then she shook her head. "I don't know why I'm surprised," she said wryly. "You would think after everything we went through, I would have gotten used to the people you got to follow you." Wynne leaned back in her chair. "It really is good to see both of you again. I cannot begin to tell you how much I've missed you, my dears. I think if you're willing to have me, I might stay here. I think my adventuring days are done."

"I don't believe that for a moment, Wynne," Alistair said fondly. "You're too tough. I think the Maker himself might have to come and collect you when it's time. But you don't even have to ask about staying here. We wouldn't have you any other place." Lya nodded her agreement. Having Wynne's solid, comfortable presence around eased her mind a great deal.

Wynne smiled broadly at them. "Then here I shall stay."


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Lya was already asleep when Alistair came in. She'd had so much trouble finding a comfortable way to sleep these last few weeks that she took to getting sleep whenever she could. He closed the door silently and moved carefully into the room. Not wanting to wake her up, he stood for awhile beside the bed, looking down at her. Finally he realized that he should probably get some sleep as well. Her erratic schedule had thrown him off, too. For some reason, he had trouble slumbering away peacefully when she was tossing and turning and finally getting up because there was no point in lying there any longer.

He slipped into bed next to her, carefully wrapping his arms around her. She mumbled something in her sleep and stirred, but didn't really wake up; just settled back against him and drifted back down into sleep. He lay there, inhaling the flowery of her. She had taken to taking a lot of baths lately, saying that is helped ease the ache in her back. As a consequence, she also spent a lot of time having perfumed oils rubbed into her. He rather approved of it. Eventually, the slow rhythm of her breathing and the warmth of her against him lulled him into sleep.

Lya woke up with a sudden start. Alistair was in bed with her, cuddling her close, but he was asleep. So that wasn't why she was awake. The curtains fluttered gently in the early summer night air, but there were no unusual sounds coming from outside. It was still early in the night, the moon barely casting any light into the room. She shrugged and was settling back down when it came.

It wasn't pain, not exactly, but more of a sudden, rippling pressure that crossed her stomach. She gasped and held her arms across her abdomen. She breathed steadily until it passed and then relaxed. Shaye and Wynne both said she would know when her body was ready and, oh boy, it was telling her it was ready. She leaned back, grabbing Alistair's shoulder to shake him awake. "Alistair! Alistair, wake up!" He muttered something and tried to turn his head away, but she just shook harder. "Wake up, damn it!"

Alistair felt something jostling him and heard his name being called. Finally deciding the person wasn't going to stop, he woke slowly. "What?" he mumbled, opening his eyes to see Lya shaking him. The upper half of her body had twisted towards him as she tried to wake him, and she was very insistent. There was an odd expression on her face, and when she saw that he was finally awake, she said, "Go get Wynne and Shaye."

He was suddenly totally and completely awake. "It's time? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Alistair, very sure and if you don't go soon, I might stab you."

He practically threw himself out of bed and hastily scrambled into a pair of pants. He jerked open the door, startling the two guards standing outside. "Go get the mages," he ordered. "Now!" One of the guards immediately took off running and Alistair left the door open as he went back to Lya. He helped ease her into a sitting position, propping pillows behind her for stability, and then started to light candles and lamps to provide light.

It seemed like forever, but it was probably only five minutes before Shaye walked in. She didn't appear at all flustered at being roused suddenly from her bed, but she did walk in saying, "You know, just once I would like to attend a birth that starts in the morning."

"Where's Wynne?" Lya gasped as another contraction hit.

Shaye went over to her immediately, seating herself on the edge of the bed. "On her way. She'll be here shortly, Lya. She's not quite as nimble as I am." She rested her hands lightly on Lya's stomach, feeling carefully. She nodded as the contraction passed. "Very good. Everything seems fine."

Wynne came into the room, using her staff as a walking stick. Shaye rose as she did and the older mage took her place at Lya's side. Wynne asked her several questions, pausing and also feeling Lya's stomach as another contraction came and went. She nodded, satisfied, and gestured to Shaye. The red head went to the door and began giving instructions to a servant who had accompanied them.

Lya shifted uncomfortably on the bed and Wynne immediately turned her attention back to the queen. "Do I need to stay in bed, Wynne?" Lya asked. "I'm not really comfortable." Wynne looked thoughtfully at Shaye.

"She could walk around for awhile. It would probably make her feel better and it would loosen her up," Shaye said. Wynne nodded.

"Alistair, come here," Wynne ordered crisply. He came quickly; feeling awkward, not knowing what to do or say. He just wanted someone to tell him what to do. "I want you to walk with Lya. She needs to move around, but her balance isn't the best at the moment. She will also need support when a contraction comes and I don't think any of us want her falling down."

"Should she really be moving, though? It won't be dangerous or anything?" Wynne gave him a foreboding look and he gulped. "Yes, ma'am," he said quickly and gently helped Lya out of bed. He was helping her stand when Shaye appeared at his side holding a shirt. She supported Lya while he quickly threw it over his head. "So, uh, where do we go?"

"Anywhere she wants, Alistair," Shaye said gently. "I would advise sticking to rooms and hallways on this floor though. Attempting stairs right now would not be the most advisable thing." Alistair nodded dumbly, and keeping one arm around Lya's shoulders and her left hand in his, began walking with her.

They walked the hallways slowly, Alistair aware that they were filling with activity. Maids were scurrying back and forth, bring towels and basins and water into their rooms. They gave the royal couple a wide berth, staring with wide eyes. Every so often, Lya would suck in a deep breath, stopping as she braced against a contraction. Alistair felt so helpless. There was nothing he could do but be strong for her when she needed to lean against him. He was glad, though, that Shaye insisted all those months ago that he stay for the birth. Being here now, he couldn't imagine not helping Lya in whatever way he could.

Wynne and Shaye checked on Lya whenever they made a pass back to the room. "You're progressing very quickly, Lya," Shaye remarked. "A little unusual for a first child, but I don't imagine you'll be complaining, hm?

"Nothing about her is usual," Wynne murmured dryly. "I also never noticed patience as one of her stronger points." Lya laughed faintly, and Alistair wondered if they had all lost their minds. It didn't really seem like an appropriate time to be making jokes to him.

Towards the end of those long hours, they passed Zevran's room, and the elf stuck his head out the door to see what all the commotion was. His eyes widened at the sight of his two friends and for once he was lost for words. The blonde elf Daevanya, who always seemed to be with him now, appeared at his shoulder and tugged him back into the room. "C'mon, Zev, let them be. They don't need us interfering." Zevran let himself be drawn back into his room, a relieved expression sliding across his face.

Lya chuckled. "I would love to see what Zevran would do if he became a father."

Alistair returned the laugh. "I think we might find ourselves short one elven assassin permanently."

"Oh, I don't know," Lya mused. "I think he would probably settle into it eventually. Not that I want him fathering my children, but with the right woman, I think he would make an interesting father." And then her humor disappeared as a harder contraction came. "Alistair," she gasped, "I think we should probably go back now."

Alistair sobered immediately. Holding her carefully, he guided her back to their rooms. Wynne and Shaye were sitting near the hearth, which now burned with a low fire. The night hardly called for the warmth, but the women were using the coals to heat water. Alistair saw the table had been laid out with all sorts of implements and basins and towels and cloths. His mouth went dry as he recalled Shaye's description of birth all those months ago. The reality of it hit him like a blow to the gut.

The mages came over as he eased Lya back into bed. "Thank you, Alistair. You did just fine. Now I think it's time for you to wait outside," Wynne said gently and moved to tug Alistair away.

"No!" The denial came from both Alistair and Lya and he felt his beloved clutching his hand in a desperate grip. Wynne looked surprised and Lya repeated herself. "No. I want him to stay, Wynne. I-I don't want to be alone for this." Lya looked at her old friend. "Please."

Wynne nodded. "Very well," she said. "I can understand that. Alistair, just do what we tell you." He bobbed his head, not quite trusting himself to speak.

Shaye came over. "Sit behind her, Alistair, like this," she said, showing him and supporting Lya as he eased himself onto the bed. Lya immediately held onto both of his hands and leaned back against his chest. The contractions she had been having were coming more frequently and he felt them through her. He wanted to do something else to help her, but had to settle for soft words on encouragement and letting her squeeze his hands to ease her through the pain.

The night had worn on and Alistair was shocked to realize the sky was already light outside. In his arms, Lya's demeanor changed and everything was suddenly more urgent. Wynne and Shaye were both there, encouraging her, telling her when to push and Alistair could do nothing more than hold her. He had heard terrible stories about women screaming in agony and crying, but Lya wasn't doing that. True, her jaws were clenched and he thought he might never regain feeling in his hands, but that was fine. There was one final push, and she cried out. Shaye and Wynne were both suddenly very busy with something very small and Lya sagged back in his arms.

Time seemed to crawl by, the seconds slowing into hours, and then there was cry. First one, then another as a very small person objected to this very rude entry into the world. Alistair hadn't even realized he was holding his breath until that moment. And then Shaye was there, handing a small blanket wrapped bundle to Lya. She looked at them and her smile was wide. "Congratulations, your Majesties. You have a son."


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

A son.

Alistair looked down at his wife. She was holding the baby in her arms and Alistair got his first good look at his son; at _their_ son. He was a positive mess, still needing to be cleaned up, but Alistair didn't care. He could see the soft halo of golden hair covering the boy's head. As Lya held him close, he stopped crying, opening his eyes to look at his new world. And his eyes were green; the same beautiful dark green he knew so well.

Alistair reached down to gently stroke the boy's head and kissed Lya's cheek softly. She was positively radiant as she looked up at Alistair. For several minutes, they sat there, holding the boy, touching him with gentle, awed fingers. And then suddenly Lya gasped, sucking her breath in around an exclamation of pain. Her arms tightened against her will around the child in her arms and he began to cry.

Wynne, who had been standing off to the side with Shaye letting the little family get acquainted, was suddenly back at their sides, taking the baby from Lya. Shaye went immediately to Lya, placing a gentle hand on her stomach and frowning. Alistair felt his heart stop. That long ago conversation about all that could go wrong was suddenly remembered in agonizing detail. This couldn't be happening. Oh, Maker, please no. Not after everything they had been through.

"Alistair!" Shaye's voice abruptly cut through the terrified thoughts circling his mind. He looked up, a wild look in his eyes. Shaye was looking directly at him, forcing him to hold her gaze by sheer strength of will. "Listen to me carefully, Alistair. Lya needs you again. You did fine just before and you're going to do just fine now. Stay with me, Alistair." Shaye's voice was calm, soothing.

She turned her attention back to Lya, murmuring calm words of encouragement again. Alistair felt bewildered. What was going on? Off to the side, Wynne had succeeded in calming the boy and his crying had ceased. But then there was a new voice crying, coming from in front of him, and he gazed down in shock. Shaye was placing a second small bundle in Lya's arms, laughing with delight and Alistair felt his heart beginning to beat again.

"And this time, your Majesties, a daughter." In his arms, Lya was crying and he felt his own tears wet on his cheeks. His vision shimmered, but he could see the dark hair that crowned his daughter's head. And as she opened her eyes, he found he already knew what he would see; the same golden brown eyes that greeted him whenever he looked in a mirror.

Shaye gave them some time and then came over to gently take the baby from Lya. Wynne had placed their son in the small cradle that had been brought in sometime during the night and put her hand on Alistair's shoulder. "You did just fine, dear. You both did. But now I think we should get them all cleaned up. Go tell all those waiting outside and we'll call you back shortly." Lya gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and he stood somewhat reluctantly. Wynne walked him carefully to the door and gave him a slight push.

Alistair found himself in a hallway full of people looking at him expectantly. Zevran and his elf Daevanya were there, as was Eamon, and shockingly, Isolde. Fergus and his new wife Dara, who had come from Highever two weeks ago, Dara, were standing with Teagan and Kaitlyn. He saw Kylon, the Captain of the Guard, a good portion of their bodyguards and all the Grey Wardens currently in the palace. Further down the hall, servants and household staff were clustered, looking anxious.

It was Zevran who broke the silence. "So tell us, your Majesty! We've been taking bets and we need to know who has to collect. What is it: boy or girl?"

"Both." It was all Alistair could manage and he felt rather proud of himself for getting that much out. Everyone in the hall just stared at him and then the meaning of what he said sank in. There were glad cries and shouts, people hugging and laughing. Alistair felt overwhelmed. He knew that for many of them it was happiness for the kingdom and not him specifically, but it still touched him. Eamon was there, clapping him on the back and offering congratulations. Zevran came, clasping his arm and just grinning. Fergus caught him up in a great hug, as overcome with emotion as Alistair and neither caring that several dozen people were watching.

"Ladies and gentlemen, quiet please!" Shaye's voice carried over the tumult in the hallway. "May I suggest that we take this celebration downstairs so as not to disturb her Majesty and the little ones?" The hall hushed nearly instantly and people began slipping away. Shaye touched his arm gently. "Lya and the babies are sleeping, but you can go in. I'll be up to relieve Wynne in a little while." She grinned at him crookedly. "You might want to get a little sleep yourself. It's likely to be scarce for the next several months."

He nodded and went back in, fairly certain he wasn't going to be able to sleep. Lya was lying down, carefully tucked in. She looked exhausted, but also supremely content. Wynne stood in front of the cradle that was now next to the bed, looking down at the small bundles. He walked over to join her, still not believing what he was seeing. As he came to a stop beside her, Wynne hugged him. "I am so happy for the two of you, Alistair." He nodded, his throat feeling tight. Wynne was the closest thing he had ever had to a real mother and he was glad she was here.

They looked back down at the cradle, and Alistair bent over to gently touch his children. They were so small, so fragile, and he felt great and clumsy next to them. "Here," Wynne said quietly, pushing him into a chair. She carefully reached into the cradle and lifted one of the babies. She brought it to Alistair and showed him how to hold it, how to support the head and cradle it close to his chest. He saw that he was holding his daughter and his breath caught in his chest. He gave Wynne a stricken look, terrified he was going to do something wrong.

She understood the look more fully than words could ever have told her and she laughed softly. "Don't be silly, Alistair. You won't hurt her." He sat very still as his daughter squirmed for a moment and then settled back into sleep, a chubby fist pressed to her mouth. He sat there for a long time, just holding her, trying to memorize her features. After a time, Wynne gently took her and placed his son in his arms. He did the same thing, marveling that after all the fear and uncertainty, things had turned out so beautifully.

Wynne watched him, not bothering to wipe away her tears. He deserved this, she thought. No, _they_ deserved this. They had had to do such terrible things just to survive, and even more terrible things to save them all. That they could now have this peace, this joy was just fitting. She said a silent prayer to the Maker, thanking Him for allowing these two to be happy.

Eventually, Shaye slipped back into the room. Wynne went to Alistair and carefully took his son from his arms. "Get some sleep, Alistair," she said firmly. He nodded, not bothering to argue. He was tired, worry and a long night having worn him out. Euphoria had kept him awake for awhile, but he needed rest now.


	23. Chapter 22

*looks around nervously* You know, people, really, _any_ and _all_ feedback is much appreciated. If something needs work, please tell me, and if you really like the way things are going, agaib, please tell me. It gets a little hard to figure out the way certain things in the story need to go if I don't hear anything back from my audience. Unless, of course, you all think this is so awesome nothing need be said. In that case, tell me that, too! Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 22**

He woke later that afternoon as the sun was beginning to set, and the sound of someone shifting in a chair caught his attention. Shaye was rising to her feet and beckoning to him. He rose carefully, noting that Lya was still sleep. Was sleeping that long normal? Well, he thought ruefully, they certainly hadn't gotten much sleep last night and she had been the one doing all of the work.

Shaye gestured to a tray of food on the table. "Eat, Alistair. Lya woke earlier to feed the babies and she got to have something then, but you haven't eaten in nearly a day. We don't want you fainting on us." He snorted quietly, but didn't argue about the food. He _was_ hungry. Shaye sat down across from him, just waiting as he ate. When he had finally consumed just about everything on the tray, she took it and set it outside the door for the maids to collect.

She waved a hand towards the bed and cradle. "I want you to know they're likely to sleep a lot the first couple days. Being born is hard work, after all, and I didn't want you to worry."

"Thank you. I probably would have been worried. I'll probably always be worried now, but still, thank you."

"It's my pleasure, Alistair. They're beautiful children, by the way. Have the two of you decided on names?"

He shook his head. "Not yet." That wasn't entirely true. The subject of names had come up during the pregnancy, but Lya hadn't really wanted to discuss it. She didn't say why, but he thought it was because she wanted to make sure the baby was born healthy before picking out a name. She wanted to make sure nothing would go wrong, believing that not naming the child would make it hurt less if it did.

She had given him a concession, though. _"How about this, Alistair? If the baby is a boy, you let me name it, and if it's a girl you can name it."_ He had agreed readily to that. He hadn't thought she would let him choose a name completely without her input, but she reassured him that she was serious.

"_What if I like the name Winifred? Or Hildebrand? Or Bertha?"_ he had teased her, and she laughed.

"_Well, if you truly believe that's the name our daughter should have, then I think any of them are perfectly lovely."_

"_Liar."_

It had actually taken him a long time to come up with a name. He didn't have anyone to name a daughter after, and Lya's family was just as lean. Alistair couldn't even remember his mother's name, and he had no reason to name his daughter after her in any case. He thought about choosing Eleanor, after Lya's mother, but it didn't seem quite right to him. He wondered how anyone managed to decide on their child's name. And then, one day, it hit him. It was perfect and he wondered how in the Maker's name it had taken him so long to come up with it.

Alistair looked over at the cradle and wondered who his son would be. Lya had wanted to name the boy. Would he be Bryce, after her father? Or maybe Oren, after the nephew who died so young? Was there some other name she had always wanted? Something she had in mind ever since she was a little girl?

At some point while he was lost in thought, Shaye had quietly left the room. Alistair stretched as he rose from his chair and went over to the cradle. They were really here. He wondered if the awe of it would ever wear off. He wasn't sure how long he stood there watching his children sleep, but eventually he felt a hand slide along his back.

Lya slipped under Alistair's arm to watch their children sleep. "They're beautiful," she murmured. Alistair leaned down slightly to brush her cheek with his lips.

"You're beautiful," he said quietly. She laughed softly and looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, ser. At least not for awhile." He chuckled and shook his head. That was just fine with him. They stood together for awhile, just holding each other and looking at the little miracles in front of them. In time, Lya lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him seriously.

"Do you sense anything?" He didn't need to ask what she meant. He knew because he had been trying to sense it since he had come back in after letting everyone in the hallway know. While it wasn't the same as sensing darkspawn, Grey Wardens could sense the taint in each other, if only faintly. It took effort, a sort of reaching out with a sixth sense, but doing it now, he could only feel the faint pull from Lya next to him; from the two sleeping forms, nothing. No matter how much or how hard he tried to sense _something_, there was just nothing. They were untainted.

"No," he answered. "I can't feel them at all."

"Neither can I," Lya said quietly and he felt her shaking against him. Alistair pulled her close and whispered soft reassurances. "I was so scared," she said. "I was so scared we had done something terrible and I-I would never have forgiven myself if…."

"It's all right, Lya, it's all right. They're fine and we don't need to worry about it anymore." She nodded and let him hold her. She started to suggest going back to bed for a little more rest when the twins began to stir.

"Naturally," she muttered. "Here," she said to Alistair, reaching into the cradle, lifting their son and handing him to her husband. She then picked up their daughter and headed to the bed. "They're hungry. I'll feed them and you can burp." He blinked in confusion.

"I, uh…."

She laughed. "Don't worry, love. I'll show you what Shaye showed me. It's easy. You might want to grab a towel, though," she said, gesturing to a small pile of them on the table near their bed. She settled herself on the bed and Alistair slid in next to her, rocking his son gently to keep the boy from fussing. He watched as she nursed their daughter, slightly in awe. It looked so natural and right, he couldn't help the silly grin that spread across his face. Lya caught him watching her and giggled at his expression.

When she decided their daughter had had enough, she showed him how to burp the baby. Alistair sat next to her as their son ate; gently patting his daughter's back and being rewarded a couple of small burps. It made him laugh; such an indelicate sound for a tiny princess. When Lya finished with the other twin, he repeated the procedure for his son while she took their daughter back and settled her shirt back into place. She sat next to him, rocking their daughter and watching him. When he was fairly sure the boy was all set, he leaned back next to Lya. They sat there, holding their children until Alistair broke the silence.

"We should probably give them names."

Lya nodded in agreement. Looking at him, she asked, "Do you have your name?"

"I do, but I want you to go first."

She nodded silently, looking at the baby in his arms. She looked back up at him and said, "Alistair, I want you to meet your son, Duncan."

His throat felt tight. "You didn't have to do that," he said thickly.

Lya leaned against his arm, looking at him with clear, smiling eyes. "Yes, I did," she replied softly. She gave him a minute and then asked, "Now, may I know the name of the little miss I'm holding?"

He cleared his throat, suddenly a little embarrassed. "It took me awhile, you know. Everything I tried seemed wrong. So I hope you don't mind, but I sort of made a name up." She tilted her head at him, curious. "Lya, say hello to Elwyn."

Lya gasped softly. Maker, but she loved this man. Not just Eleanor or Wynne, the two women who were the mothers in their lives, but both of them. She leaned down to softly nuzzle Elwyn's nose with her own.

"Hello, Elwyn."

AN: The name Elwyn, like many of the names I use, is taken from an old D&D character of mine. I know a name like this is used in a lot of fics, but I did want to let it be known that this name has been knocking about in my head for years. ;)


	24. Chapter 23

Thank you for all of the generous feedback! It was very reassuring. And now, the return of everyone's favorite character!

* * *

**Chapter 23**

"Twins." Osric practically spat the word. "Impossible. It cannot happen."

He looked at the Warden standing before him, and the mage spread his hands helplessly. "I do not know what to tell you, ser. The queen of Ferelden did indeed give birth to twins just over a month ago. The country is said to be overjoyed at the news."

Osric stalked to the window and looked out. It was summer and the Anderfels was as pretty as it would be all year, but he saw none of it. He whirled back to face the sweating mage. "Yet we both know it is impossible. The only possible explanation is that the children are not Alistair's." The mage shifted uncomfortably and Osric lifted an eyebrow. "You disagree?"

"Well, ser, from the reports, both children carry some of his traits. The girl is said to have his eyes and the boy resembles him." He faltered at the foreboding look on Osric's face and hurried on. "Our people say there is no suspicion whatsoever that the children are not of the Theirin bloodline."

Osric paced back and forth in irritation before finally taking a deep breath. He wondered idly if these Fereldans were being sent as test of some sort. He had been a Warden for nearly twenty-four years, First Warden for almost nine, and never had he encountered such defiance and trouble from other Wardens as he did from these two. Maker curse the day Duncan recruited them.

He shook his head. "Enough of that. Time will tell if the children are truly his. If they are, then we simply have more questions that need to be answered." Moving back to the wide desk, he shuffled through the papers on his desk before selecting one. He reviewed it quickly and nodded. "Are our agents in place?" he asked.

"Almost, ser. Some are easier to place than others. Some of the assignments will take longer since we cannot use anyone already there."

Osric looked at the man thoughtfully. "We've still had no luck with that, then? You cannot find anyone we can use, even with all the coin we are offering?"

The mage shook his head. "No, ser. They are almost fanatically loyal. We might be able to wear some down, but at this point it would probably just be easier to insinuate a few of our own people. Less cause for suspicion if nothing else."

"I see. Very well then, do what you think best. What about Amaranthine?"

"Delano says things are progressing slowly. He is meeting resistance from the mage, Anders, and the…dwarf," the man said distastefully. "Howe seems to be cooperating, at least, though he is not overly enthusiastic. As for the…spirit, it seems fine. It neither opposes Delano or supports him, but simply does its job and trains the younger Wardens."

Osric nodded. "That will suffice. Tell Delano not to rush things. We still have a little time yet. The recruits seem promising, and it is not their fault that the leadership in Amaranthine has been less than desirable. I don't want to lose good Wardens simply because they are being misled."

"As you command, ser. Is there anything else you need?" the mage asked.

"No, thank you. That will be all." Osric dismissed the other Warden and sat back down. He opened a drawer in the desk and removed a small box. From within the box, he drew out a letter and read it over carefully. It had been crafted months ago, each word chosen with the utmost care. Osric had then put it away, waiting for the right moment. It seemed the moment was now upon him.

He picked up a pen to sign and date the letter, and then almost hurriedly set it back down. Leaning forward to place his elbows on the desk, he laced his hands together and rested his forehead on them. He had support for this, he knew that. Centuries of patient planning had made sure of that, and it had all led up to this point. Never again would an opportunity as ripe as this one present itself. If he committed to it, he would see the dreams of his predecessors realized.

But the cost would be high, he reflected. It would require the deaths of good men and women, and it was a heavy price to pay. Was he prepared to sacrifice them so that the Order might be stronger and so that others might live?

He sat back up and picked up his pen once more. Date and signature were added to the letter in a swift, decisive motion. Osric sealed it carefully and then placed it within yet another envelope, before sealing that one as well. On the morrow, a trusted courier would be sent to Val Royeaux, and the die would be cast. "In death, sacrifice," Osric murmured.


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"So, do we invite Anora?"

Lya looked up from tickling Duncan's tummy at her husband. He was sitting across from her on the bed playing peek-a-boo with Elwyn. "What?" she asked him blankly.

"Do we invite Anora?"  
"To what?"

"To the…unveiling," he said, gesturing at their children. Understanding dawned in Lya's eyes as she realized what he was talking about. Much like there had been a celebration to announce her pregnancy, there was one being planned to officially present to children to the assembled nobility. Unbelievably, there were _still_ nobles not content with knowing the children had been born and were making demands that others outside of Alistair's and Lya's inner circle be allowed to see them. They had put off the demands for several months until the twins were old enough to handle an event like this without too much of a fuss.

Lya thought carefully. "She is the teyrna of Gwaren, Alistair. We can't _not_ invite her. To do that would be a grievous insult, and we don't need her as an enemy."

Alistair grimaced. "I see your point, really I do, but I wish we didn't have to. It's not like she likes either of us." He sighed. "I wish you _had_ let me execute her. It would make this easier."

She frowned at him. "That's unworthy of you, Alistair, and you know it. After the Archdemon, she wasn't really a threat to us, and I think we had slaughtered enough nobles at that point. Executing her wouldn't have done any good. And, honestly, could you have killed her in cold blood simply for being who she is?"

He sighed. "No, I couldn't have. Doesn't stop me from daydreaming, though. I just don't want her causing any trouble. This is going to seem like we're rubbing her nose in her failures."

Lya pursed her lips and nodded. "Maybe," she said slowly, "we should write a personal letter. We could let her know that we understand her reluctance if she doesn't want to come, but that we would appreciate it if she did. If we emphasized that it's only out of concern for the painful memories she must have, it would give her an out of she really doesn't wish to come."

"Hm, that could work. I guess the question now is who gets to write the letter? I'm not exactly her favorite person, you know."

"Like I am? You only killed her father, Alistair. I took her throne from her, and between the two of us, I know that wound cuts deeper. She loathes me, Alistair, and everyone knows it. It's apparent to anyone who's ever attended a Landsmeet." Her lips twisted. "I doesn't help that I lied to her about supporting her, but I trusted her about-"

"About as far as you could throw a chevalier and his horse." Alistair finished for her. He grinned at her and dodged the small pillow she tossed at his head, while she mock glowered at him from under lowered eyebrows.

The amusement vanished from her face and she sighed wearily. "Let's just have Eamon write the damn thing. She probably wouldn't believe anything from us was sincere anyway. At least from Eamon, she'll accept that it's not pity, and just his way of trying to be tactful."

"Then it's settled. We can mention it to him later today." Alistair took a deep breath in relief and then frowned. Picking up Elwyn, he held her out at arms' length suspiciously. He threw a hopeful look in Lya's direction.

She shook her in amusement. "Not a chance. It's your turn." She bit her lip to keep from laughing as he eased himself off the bed and towards the changing table against a wall. Faint grumbles of "Not very princess-like" and "How can something so small make such a mess?" drifted back to her as she turned attention back to Duncan's tummy.

*** * ***

The debut, as everyone had taken to calling it, was going smoothly. The atmosphere was more subdued than it had been when they announced Lya's pregnancy. The Landsmeet had provided the perfect opportunity since all the nobles were already gathered, and the decision to hold the gathering after the politics had been an easy one. Everyone was taking the opportunity to wind down from the sometimes contentious proceedings, and there was a definite sense that everyone would go home from this Landsmeet more relaxed than they normally did.

Alistair was circulating through the crowd at the moment while Lya escorted nobles who wanted to see the children into a small receiving room one and two at a time. He checked on her periodically to see if she wanted a break, but she had declined. She was very protective of the twins and Alistair didn't think she wanted anyone in with their children without her presence.

Nobles who had already been in to see the children offered compliments on the children. Alistair wasn't sure how he was supposed to take that. Obviously, he could claim some of the credit for how they looked, but it wasn't like he had any control over it. He accepted the well wishes graciously though. His children did seem well-behaved and attractive, not that he had any great experience with babies, and he thought people seemed genuine in their praise and not simply trying to flatter him.

One thing did bother him, though, and it had been something he had overhead coming from Eamon and a few of the older nobles. "The boy looks just like Cailan did as a baby," Eamon had said to a small group. "Except the eyes, of course. Has his mother's eyes. That seems to always be the case, though. Theirin blood breeds true, but they always have their mothers' eyes." The nobles with Eamon had chuckled and agreed.

Alistair had slipped away from the group; fairly certain none of them had realized that he overheard them. He was uncomfortable having his son compared to Cailan. His half-brother had seemed like a good man, even with all his faults, but if Duncan turned out like Cailan did, Alistair was not going to be very happy.

The other thing that bothered Alistair, the real issue if he were honest with himself, was that they were comparing Duncan to _Cailan_ and not to him. Eamon surely had seen him as a baby, but none of the other nobles had, and Alistair couldn't repress the stab of bitterness at the reason why. The others had seen Cailan because Maric had been an actual father to his brother; he had raised and acknowledged him. Meanwhile, Alistair had been pushed off to the side, an embarrassing reminder of an indiscretion best left forgotten.

It bothered him more now than it used to. Having held his own children in his arms, he couldn't imagine ever willingly sending them away to never see them again; to have them grow up alone and unwanted. But then Maric had never done that, had he? Cailan had been his real son, the product of a marriage to a beautiful queen. Alistair doubted Maric had even been aware of his existence until Eamon had told him. Was it easier to ignore a child you had never seen?

With a rush of guilt, Alistair thought about his other child, the one he would never know. He regretted that he would never hold that child or know what it looked like or learn its name. And he had his answer. While he would tear the world apart if anyone tried to take Elwyn or Duncan from him, he would let his firstborn remain unknown to him and that idea didn't bother him as much as it used to. Maric had probably felt the same way and Alistair laughed softly at the bitter irony of it. Wherever she was, Alistair hoped Morrigan would tell her child, and it was easier to think of it as hers, he hadn't just abandoned them.

"Am I not to see your children?" A cool voice from behind him interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to see the former queen of Ferelden and the current teyrna of Gwaren looking at him.

Anora was as impeccable of ever. Her pale blue gown was stunning; a perfect match to her ice blue eyes, and her long blonde hair was arranged in a slightly more elaborate braided style than she normally wore. She was looking at him now with one delicately arched eyebrow slightly raised.

"Teyrna Anora," he said, trying to put as much friendliness into as he could. Lya had told him to play nice, and as much as he disliked Anora, he was always very careful to be scrupulously polite to her in public. "How are you this evening?"

"I am well, _your majesty_," she replied, adding the slight emphasis that she always did when speaking to either Lya or him. He tried not to sigh. Maker, but she made this far more difficult than it had to be. "So is the teyrna of Gwaren not worthy to see the heirs to Ferelden? Or does _his majesty_ simply wish to avoid embarrassing me by not pointing out all of my many flaws and failures as queen?"

The tightly controlled voice and expression told him she was furious more clearly than a raging fit ever would. Alistair frowned and quickly thought back over the last week or so. As far as he could tell, they hadn't done anything to offend her this much, and she had seemed completely fine before the festivities tonight. Something had happened, and recently, and he wanted to find out. He did not need her seething over something and causing trouble. Besides, all personal feelings aside, she really was a valuable asset.

Gently taking her arm, he drew her off to the side to afford them some more privacy. She stiffened at his touch, and while he kept the contact as brief as possible, she still sighed in relief as his hand fell away. "Did something happen that I'm not aware of?" he asked quietly.

Both of her eyebrows rose at his question. "Did something happen? Of course not, _your majesty_. Nothing except being told that everything Cailan and I did meant nothing because we had no children."

Alistair took a deep breath and bit his tongue to keep from saying something he would regret. A quick mental templar exercise calmed him some more and he looked at her steadily. "Who said that, Anora?" When she said nothing, he shook his head faintly. "Whoever said that was out of line, Anora. You can tell me now or I can have my people find out later. I will make sure that whatever loudmouthed noble said that will know that he is out of line. Regardless of any personal feelings, you are a teyrna and you _will_ be respected, especially here."

Anora pursed her lips slightly. "You'll forgive me if I don't quite believe you."

Alistair gritted his teeth and firmly grabbed Anora's arm to guide her from the room. As they walked to the room where the twins were, he leaned down to speak quietly. "Damn it, Anora, enough. I know you don't like us, and believe me the feeling is mutual, but we _do_ respect you. If we didn't, you never would have left that tower, and most importantly, wouldn't have gotten Gwaren." She scoffed, and he continued without giving her a chance to interrupt. They were approaching the door to the room, and he halted and turned her to face him so he could look her in the eye.

"I can't afford to waste talent. And as much as I disagree with some of the things you did, and as much as I think you're a cold-hearted b-" He shut his mouth before he inserted his foot completely. "As much as I think you can be cold and heartless, I _need_ you. I need someone capable to keep Gwaren running and I need someone I can trust. Lya and I both believe you will always put Ferelden first, even if we feel your ideas are not what's best for Ferelden. And that's the only reason you still have your head and some measure of power. If we doubted that for even a second, you would lose one right after the other.

"Now, you can tell me who's being an ass or you can not. The choice is yours. But I'm tired of all the little jibes and snippy comments and they stop tonight. I'm not suggesting we're ever going to like each other, but can we please call a truce?" He offered a hand to her.

She looked at it for a long moment before finally giving a sharp nod and clasping it briefly in hers. Alistair let out a sigh of relief, ignoring the faintly condescending expression that crossed her face. He opened the door quietly and ushered her into the small room. Lya was sitting in a comfortable chair holding Elwyn, but when she saw who entered, she rose to her feet, nodded to Anora and placed Elwyn back next to Duncan.

Anora hesitated before going slowly over to the crib to peer in. She looked in for several long moments, her fingers curling over the edge of the crib as she looked in.

"Would you like to hold either of them?" Lya asked gently.

Shaking her head, Anora said quietly, "No, that's…quite all right." Lya merely nodded once and stepped back to wait. Anora looked for another minute or so before finally stepping away from the crib. She looked at Alistair and Lya steadily, though her blue eyes seemed darker and there was something grave in her face. "They are truly beautiful children. Congratulations to you both. Now, if you'll excuse me…?" With that, she eased past them and slipped out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.

Crossing over to him to give him a quick kiss, Lya murmured, "What was that all about?" Alistair sighed and shook his head. "Anora being Anora and the nobility acting like asses. Same old, same old." He looked around the small room. "Let's have Liadan take the twins back upstairs and go back and mingle with our guests. I, at least, need a drink."

*** * ***

The hallways of the royal palace were mostly deserted, which made the lone figure slipping quietly through them stand out all the more. Zevran followed at a cautious distance, taking great care to stick to the shadows. The man ahead of him had wandered away from the party and was slowly working his way deeper into the palace. Zevran was content to follow, unsure of what exactly the man was doing or where he was going, and wanted to see what his goal was before confronting him.

When the man turned towards the area where the royal apartments and guest rooms were, however, Zevran moved quickly to put an end to the stranger's curiosity. His hands settled around the hilts of the twin daggers he wore, and cursed silently that he had agreed to wear finery instead of leather for the event. He came up behind the man silently, and cleared his throat.

The stranger turned quickly, startled by the sound. Zevran smiled an easy, reassuring smile that did not touch his eyes. "Can I help you?" he asked smoothly. "You appear to be…_lost_."

"Ah, yes, thank you," the man replied, also smiling. His eyes flickered down the Zevran's hands which rested on the pommels of his daggers. "This place is so big, I got turned around when I went looking for some fresh air."

"I see. Quite understandable. Here, let me guide you back." Zevran extended a hand back down the hall in the direction they had come from. The man eye's flicked around in one last look before starting back towards the hall. When they arrived, Zevran watched as the man went over to join Anora. He frowned. A stranger wandering the palace was bad. A stranger wandering around private areas of the palace was worse. A stranger under the employ of a deposed monarch doing such things was more than troubling.

They would have to set a closer watch on Anora. Zevran pondered for a moment and decided not to tell Lya and Alistair, at least not yet. Once he had more information, then he would see.


	26. Chapter 25

The writing gods abandoned me! Struggled with this chapter, hopefully it works. Thoughts and comments much appreciated, as I might end up reworking it a bit. Thanks for all the positive feedback! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 25**

Lya settled back into the couch and leaned against Alistair, tired, but happy. The room was full of people and rather noisy, but they were all friends and family so she didn't mind. The Landsmeet and gathering had ended two days ago, and most of the nobility had returned home, but Fergus and Teagan had stayed behind for a few more days to catch up and relax. Delano, despite being the de facto Arl of Amaranthine, had opted not to come to the Landsmeet, sending Nathaniel in his place. Nathaniel had brought Oghren, Anders and Justice along with him, as well as a handful of other Wardens. It gave the entire gathering a sense of familiarity.

Right now, conversation was free-flowing, but her attention was on the small group on the floor. Anders and Justice were both sitting on the floor, each of them holding one of the twins. Anders was making little flames dance on the end of his fingers to amuse Duncan, who squealed with delight every time the flames flickered on and off. Alistair kept tensing next to her when Anders did that and she squeezed his hand in reassurance each time. Anders would never hurt them, and she knew Alistair knew that, but a decade of Chantry doctrine was not soon forgotten.

It was Justice, though, that she focused on. Introducing him to Fergus and Teagan had been…interesting. It had taken a little while to explain what he was to them, and that he really wasn't evil or posed any threat. Teagan had been especially dubious, and for good cause, but he seemed to be coming around. It helped that Justice's body was holding up fairly well and didn't seem to rot quite like normal corpses did. Her mind shuddered away from that thought.

Right now, he was holding Elwyn out and was looking at her critically. Elwyn, for her part, regarded him placidly. "It is strange. I have never seen one of these so close up before," he was saying.

"She's called a baby, Justice." She looked thoughtful. "You've really never seen one before?"

"Oh, I have seen them around in Amaranthine. But to actually hold one? No, this is the first time. I find it most interesting."

"But, surely you've seen Oghren's Lya…." She looked over to her dwarven friend. Oghren shook his head.

"Fels doesn't bring her to the Vigil," he said. "And when I go to visit I don't exactly bring company."

She looked over to Nathaniel sitting across from her. "What about Christopher?" He shook his head as well at the mention of his nephew.

"Delilah doesn't come to the keep at all, and, no offense, Justice, I don't think she'd be very comfortable with you in her home."

"Oh. I didn't realize that."

"It is of no moment," Justice replied. "I simply find it intriguing that humans start out so small and helpless." He brought Elwyn closer to his face, looking back and forth between her and Lya and Alistair. "She looks like you, Lya, but not completely. There is a little bit of Alistair in her, I think."

"I should hope so," Alistair said, and then got a slightly uncomfortable look on his face. "Ah…you do know where babies come from, right?"

Justice looked up at him. "Of course. I have this body's memories. Many of them are of Kristoff and Aura attempting to conceive one. Why?"

"I do not know, Alistair!" Zevran called from across the room. "Please, enlighten us!"

Alistair groaned and rubbed his face. "Forget I said anything. Me and my big mouth. Besides, Wynne's the expert here." The room exploded into laughter before he realized what he said, and he turned an interesting shade of scarlet. "Oh, Maker's breath! What is wrong with you people? I only meant that there was that one time with she and I-" He cut himself off as laughs began anew and threw up his hands. "I give up!"

Lya wiped her eyes and leaned over to give him a kiss. "We tease because we care, love." He grumbled a little bit, but accepted the kiss more than willingly and allowed the subject to drop. Lya snuggled a little closer into his side and looked over at Nathaniel.

"How is the Vigil these days?" she asked quietly. "And how many Wardens do we have now?"

"Tense," he replied. "We have fifty-six Wardens, of which thirty-two are Fereldan, including us." He gestured towards the others. Lya frowned.

"We've only added twenty-eight Wardens in two years?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "Yes, and we've been very aggressive in recruiting, too. There's no shortage of volunteers, but it's difficult to find the right combination in people we think will survive. We would have had more, but the Joining…" He trailed off, glancing towards Teagan and Fergus. They were on the other side of the room, not close enough to hear and not listening, but Nathaniel leaned closer anyway. "The Wardens Weisshaupt sent say the survival rate is about the same as it always is. We lose about half the recruits at each Joining."

Lya sighed heavily and Alistair shook his head; the memory of the Joining never really faded. "There are twenty-four Wardens from outside Ferelden now?" Alistair asked. Nathaniel nodded his head. "So Osric keeps sending more."

"Yes. A couple at a time every few months or so. It's another reason I'd like to increase recruitment. Since the foreign Wardens are older and more experienced, we're beginning to feel outnumbered."

She looked at her friends talking and laughing throughout the room. "This is so _stupid_!" she whispered harshly. "There's no reason for us to be squabbling like this." She looked at Alistair and Nathaniel helplessly. "But if we do nothing, Osric wins in Amaranthine and I can't see that ending in anything good."

"Oh, I don't think there's _no_ reason." Alistair raised an eyebrow. "I did almost kill him, if you recall."

"Yes, I recall. But it shouldn't involve the rest of the Wardens like it is."

Nathaniel spoke slowly. "I don't think they see it separate, though. I mean, it makes sense. Wardens are supposed to give up all of their past when they Join, but we're pretty poor examples of that." He gestured to the others as he said that. "I think that might be Osric's goal more than anything else; to make sure Fereldan Wardens see themselves as Wardens above all else." He grinned at his friends. "The two of you are seen as a 'distracting influence' on the junior Wardens. As long as we toe the party line, none of the older Wardens seem to have any problems with us." He grimaced. "It's a hard line to toe sometimes. For some more than others."

Looking carefully towards Oghren and Anders, she lowered her voice even more. "Do we need to make plans?" Nathaniel followed her gaze and frowned thoughtfully.

"No, not yet. Let's wait and see. Moving them too soon would be suspicious. As tense as things are, it might be getting better. I don't know yet."

Alistair nodded, and then rubbed the back of his neck. "I never thought I would be in this position. When Duncan recruited me, I could never have foreseen this. Sometimes, I wish…."

Lya squeezed his knee gently. "We are what we are, Alistair. We're still Wardens; they can't take that from us."

He looked at her. "Can't they? I haven't been looked at as a Warden since I took the throne. It might sound odd, but that bothers me. We're only here because we _are_ Wardens. To not have that matter anymore…."

Lya didn't know what to tell him. For Alistair, becoming a Grey Warden had been something incredible; an escape from a life he hated and chance to truly prove himself. It wasn't the same for her. Yes, she had wanted to be a Warden, but she had become one during the most terrible period in her life. She didn't regret it, not for a moment, and she was proud of what she was and what they had done, but it was bittersweet. And unlike Alistair, she had never fully embraced it, could probably never have fully embraced it.

"We know what we are," she said finally. "It doesn't matter what they say. They can't take what we are and what we did from us. I wish it hadn't come to this, but Osric forced the issue first."

He shrugged. "I suppose you're right." He turned back to Nathaniel. "If you need anything, let us know. Whatever help we can offer is yours."

"Thank you, Alistair. I'm hoping it won't come to that." He thought for a moment. "Actually, if I could impose on your hospitality for a few days, there are a few things I'd like to check on while I'm Denerim. The others are heading back tomorrow; I don't want them gone from the Vigil for too long."

"Of course." Lya looked at her friends. "Well, if they're leaving tomorrow, I want to spend some more time with them." She rose from the couch and dropped down the floor next to Anders where she helped him remove Duncan's hand from his earring, and began catching up with them.

Alistair watched his wife settle in with their friends and turned back to Nathaniel. "So," he said quietly, "how much are you not telling us?" Nathaniel looked startled for a moment before grinning.

"You're more perceptive than you look, Alistair."

"Yes, well, it sort of comes with the job." He inclined his head towards Lya. "And I've had a good teacher." He looked at Nathaniel expectantly, and the other man sighed.

"I'm not keeping that much from you; just some personal suspicions and they have more to do with Delano himself than the order as a whole. I get the feeling he's playing his own game. I'm not trying to keep secrets, Alistair, but it's probably safer for you in case I mess up. You'll be able to deny everything." He held up a hand to forestall any interruption. "I live there. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Alistair thought it over and finally nodded. "Just be careful, all right?" He gestured to his wife. "She doesn't like losing people."

Nathaniel grinned. "And I don't really want to be lost. I'll be careful."

The next day, after some long goodbyes, much hugging and a challenge to a drinking contest, Oghren, Anders and Justice left with the rest of the Wardens. Teagan and Kaitlyn returned to Eamon's estate to spend time with him and Isolde before packing and going back to Redcliffe. Fergus decided to stay for a few more days until Nathaniel's business was done, and then they would head back to Highever together by way of Amaranthine. No one was comfortable letting Nathaniel go back by himself, and a royal guard wouldn't send the right message. Fergus also expressed a desire to spend more time with his family, which Lya was ecstatic about.

The night before he was heading back to Highever, Fergus helped Lya put the twins to bed. He stood looking down at them, his expression troubled. Lya guessed where his thoughts were and rubbed his back gently.

"Dara's expecting," he said quietly. She gasped and he turned to face her. "That's why she didn't come. I don't want her traveling, not now."

Lya's expression softened. "I think that's wonderful news, Fergus." She paused and bit her lip. "Are you all right?" she asked tentatively.

He started to speak and then shook his head. "Yes. No. Both, I guess? I'm happy, I really am, but I can't forget Oren and Oriana. I feel like I'm replacing them and…." He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. "Dara is being incredibly understanding about it. I'm not sure what I did to deserve her."

Lya hugged him, hard, offering all the support she could. Her big brother had always been there to protect her, and she wished she could do more for him now than just be there. "We won't forget them, Fergus," she said softly. "But you need to live. Believe me, if there's any lesson I've learned, it's that one. We can never forget those we lost, but we have to live for them." He returned her hug fiercely, and they stood for awhile, remembering what had been. Lya said nothing when she felt Fergus's chest hitch a few times, or felt the wetness against her cheek.

Fergus finally stepped back and drew a deep breath. "Mother and Father would really be proud of you, you know." He grinned crookedly. "I guess you weren't an accident after all." She smiled at the old joke; the tease about why she was nearly a decade younger than him.

'Apology accepted, big brother. I have just one favor to ask."

"Oh?"

She grinned at him. "Whatever you have, please don't name the baby after me or Alistair. I don't think the kingdom can take anymore. Half the time I'm in public, I nearly twist my head off trying to see who's calling us." He reached out and ruffled her hair.

"I think I can handle that, little sister."

They said goodbye the next morning, promising to come and visit at Highever soon. Once Fergus and Nathaniel left with their escort and were no longer in sight, Lya and Alistair returned to the palace. It would be nice to get back into a normal routine and enjoy the mundane aspects of life. As Alistair started to go through the paperwork awaiting them, he chuckled. "I can't believe I'm actually looking forward to doing this. Who would've thought lumber contracts could be so fascinating?"

Lya laughed. "I'm willing to wager your newfound enthusiasm for trade won't last the week."

He grinned at her. "Probably not, but let's enjoy it while it lasts. I'm looking forward to a nice long stretch where the most exciting thing is the price of timber going up." Lya nodded in agreement. She was looking forward to it, too.

But they didn't get a week.

The evening two days after Fergus left, Zevran came to their rooms. Lya felt her heart sink at the expression on his face. "What's wrong? What happened?" She felt Alistair come up behind her, but the weight of his hand on her shoulder was not reassuring.

"There's been a problem, Lya. Your brother's party was attacked while on the road. They returned here for healing"

The blood drained from her face. "Fergus?" she whispered.

"_He_ will be fine. The mages are with them now. But…"

"But what, Zevran? Who isn't fine?"

He looked at her, his golden eyes somber. "Nathaniel."


	27. Chapter 26

Chapters renamed so that the chapter number in the titles match up with _the actual chapter number_. You think I would have fixed that before now. -.-

* * *

**Chapter 26**

Lya paced the hall outside Nathaniel's room like a caged animal. Ten paces up the hall, a hard turn and ten paces back to stand before the closed door for a moment before turning and beginning again. Wynne and Shaye were both in the room working on Nathaniel and they were refusing to let anyone in at the moment.

Those waiting in the hall with Lya watched her uneasily. Zevran was crouched on his haunches and Alistair leaned against a wall. A guard had dragged a chair into the hallway for Fergus; even with magical healing, his thigh would still take time to heal completely from the deep slash. The injury wasn't that serious, and Lya had been reassured when she had been able to actually see the wound for herself. The only reason he hadn't been more severely wounded now lay in the room beyond the door, drowning in his own blood.

"Bandits," Alistair said in disgust. "Less than a day from the capital. Unbelievable."

"Yes. Bandits." Zevran's voice was carefully neutral and Lya looked up at him.

"You think it was something else?"

He gave her a bemused look. "Since when has anything we've ever done been as simple as dealing with common bandits? They may indeed have been such, but I doubt it."

Her lips thinned and she looked at her brother. He shook his head. "I wish I could tell you, little sister. I don't have nearly as much experience with these things as you do. Nothing seemed to stand out about them."

"Nothing except the fact that they attacked a well-armed party. Did any of them get away?"

Fergus shrugged. "I don't know. Once the fighting started, I was too busy trying to stay alive to pay attention to that. And after, I was too busy trying to…." He trailed off, looking towards the closed door. "My guards might know, though. I would suggest asking them."

Zevran stood and stretched. "I will. I will also be going to look at the bodies. With your permission, Teyrn Cousland, I would like to take some of your guards to confirm a few things."

"Of course."

"Then I will see you in a few days."

"Zev…" Lya said in a low voice. He grinned at her.

"I will be fine, my dear Warden. I do, if you remember, have some experience with roadside traps."

"I remember that ending rather poorly on your part."

"Oh, I don't know. I happen to think it worked out rather well, don't you?" She laughed weakly, but her heart wasn't in it. "I will be careful. And when I return, I shall personally escort your brother home, if for no other reason than to keep from having to watch you pace."

"I-" She stopped and flushed, almost as if she were embarrassed. "Thank you, Zevran."

He swept a low, teasing bow as he left. "Anytime, my dear."

Lya turned as if to resume her pacing, but sighed and sagged against a wall instead. She buried her face in her hands. "Queen of my own sodding country and I can't even keep my friends or my brother safe."

"This is not your fault, Lya," Fergus reassured her. "You can't be responsible for everything."

She exchanged a grim look with Alistair. "I wouldn't be so quick to say that, Fergus," she said darkly. Fergus looked from her to Alistair and back and waited expectantly. Lya shook her head firmly. "No, we can't tell you. It's probably better if you don't know."

"Ah. Grey Warden business?"

"Maybe. Hopefully not. Probably not, though given how badly Nate is injured I can't help but wonder if he was the target.

"No." Fergus's denial was firm. "The blade Howe took was meant for me. The bandit that got through would have killed me had he not thrown himself in the way. In complete honesty, Lya, it didn't seem as if anyone was a particular target. They tried to kill us all equally."

"I hope so." She looked horrified as soon as the words left her mouth and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Maker's breath, that's not what I meant!"

"It's all right, Lya. We know what you meant," Alistair said gently. "You're tired, angry and worried. We're not about to get upset over something like that."

She muttered a quiet oath and slid down the wall further to sit on the floor with her legs stretched out in front of her. Casting a worried glance towards the door, she spat, "He survived breaking into the Vigil, the Joining, talking darkspawn, the Mother and Architect only be felled by a bandit! If he dies, I'm going to kill him."

Silence fell in the hallway as they continued to wait. In time, Lya's head sagged and her breathing evened out as she nodded off. Alistair sat next to Fergus's chair and they both watched her sleep. "Life with her is never dull, is it?" Fergus asked dryly. Alistair laughed, but softly to avoid waking her up.

"You can say that again." He yawned and rubbed his temples. "By the Maker, I'm tired." He looked up at his brother-in-law, noting the dark circles under his eyes and lines of fatigue on his face. "You should probably go to bed."

"No, I intend to wait. I owe him that." He hesitated, looking troubled, before going on. "I've wronged him. I…found it really hard to trust him. He's a Howe, and after everything that had happened…. Lya never held what his father did against him, but I haven't been so generous. He didn't have to do what he did, and I owe him my life. The least I can do it wait to see whether he lives or dies."

Alistair nodded and when conversation lapsed again, he let it lie. Fergus eventually dozed off and Alistair had to keep jerking himself awake to keep from joining them. The door to Nathaniel's room remained closed. _They've been in there too long_, he thought to himself.

Finally, finally, the door opened and Wynne stepped out. The front of her robes was splattered with a not insignificant amount of blood and she looked absolutely exhausted, her face grayed and haggard. She cleared her throat gently and both Lya and Fergus came instantly awake. Lya shot to her feet, staggering a little as her legs refused to support her for a moment, but her eyes never left Wynne's face.

"He's alive," Wynne assured her quietly. "But he is very weak. The dagger punctured one of his lungs. He lost a lot of blood and had a great deal of internal bleeding. It's no small miracle that he even made it here in time. He's asleep right now and we're going to keep him that way. It is imperative that he does not exert himself in any way, and he must be watched closely. With his lungs the way they are, any illness or infection will kill him.

"But if all goes well, I think he will live. He is a very, very lucky young man."

Lya pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and took a ragged breath. "Thank you, Wynne," she whispered thickly.

"You're welcome. Now, I'm going to bed. I suggest you all do the same." Lya nodded and Alistair extended a hand to help Fergus up. He walked Lya's brother to his room while Lya went with Wynne. They met back up on the way to their rooms and Alistair pulled her close as they walked.

"We have got to stop doing this," she muttered.

"Stop doing what?" he asked lightly. "Oh, you mean attracting all the trouble in the kingdom and then throwing ourselves in harm's way to protect others. Yes, I see what you mean."

"I'm not joking, Alistair."

"I'm not either." He looked at her, faintly amused. "Who else do you know who can deal with this stuff day in and day out? We're far from helpless, Lya. You can't be responsible for everything that goes wrong, and you can't always rush in to save us." Giving her a quick grin, he added, "Though I must admit, it's pretty impressive when you do." She elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

"I guess you're right. I just can't stop thinking of him, and everyone else, as my responsibility." She rubbed her forehead and yawned. "One of these days I really am going to let you fend for yourselves, and then where will you be?"

"Probably lost and missing my pants."

"Missing your pants? Now there's a thought."

"Minx."

* * *

It was a week before Wynne and Shaye allowed Nathaniel to awaken from his magically-induced slumber, and allowed people in to see him. Lya went in first, and drew a shocked gasp at what she saw. He had lost weight, his cheeks sunken, and his skin was unhealthy shade of white underneath his tan. Despite being asleep for a week, his eyes were rimmed with black and he looked absolutely exhausted.

"That bad?" he asked when he saw her expression. Even his voice was weak, raw and cracked.

"Maker's blood, Nate, you look like death." She moved to take the chair next to his bed, and reached out a hand to clasp his. He returned the grip, but the familiar strength she was used to feeling was gone.

Nathaniel grimaced. "I feel like it." He cleared his throat and gestured towards a glass of water on the table by his bed. She reached for it hastily, and helped him hold and drink from it. His lips twisted as she set the glass back down.

"Don't," she said quietly. "We've all been there. It's not weakness to take help when you need it." He said nothing and she sighed. "Stubborn," she muttered under her breath.

"Like you handle it any better." She laughed and nodded, conceding the point. "I assume you're looking into what happened."

"Yes. Zevran left shortly after you were brought back, but he hasn't returned yet. When he does, I will let you know immediately." She paused and bit her lip. "I need to thank you, Nate. If it wasn't for you…."

He waved off her words. "There's nothing to thank me for. I just did what any of his guards would have done."

"But it wasn't any of his guards that saved my brother. It was _you_ and I can't ever repay you for that. If you're up to it, he wants to see you himself." He nodded.

Lya went to the door and opened it, beckoning for her brother to enter. Fergus entered, and while his eyes widened at the sight of Nathaniel, he kept his expression carefully schooled. He held the door open a moment longer and Alistair followed him in. Nodding once to her husband, Fergus turned to address Nathaniel. Lya looked at Alistair quizzically.

"I don't know," he whispered. "He just asked me to come."

"Nathaniel Howe," Fergus said, "I owe you my life. There are no words to describe my gratitude for such a brave and selfless act."

"Oh, I don't know. You seem to be finding the words just fine," Nathaniel drawled wryly.

Fergus grinned and gave a brief laugh. "You're spoiling the moment. Let me finish."

"Sorry."

"So," Fergus continued, "in return for such an act, I am hereby requesting that a portion of Amaranthine be returned to you and your family." He turned to Alistair. "If your Majesty is willing to help, of course. Technically, the land is controlled by the Grey Wardens, so you'll probably have to write up something official, but I think such loyalty is worth a little effort to reward."

Alistair's face split in a wide grin. "I think I can manage that."

Nathaniel looked stunned. "My lord, that's n-not…why I did it…."

"I know," Fergus said quietly. "You did it because you're a good man, and you deserve the chance to truly redeem your family's name. This will help and I am more than happy to request it. Know that you, and your family, will _always_ be welcome in Highever." He looked over at Lya, who looked extraordinarily pleased at the situation.

"I also owe you an apology. Lya saw you for you and not just a name long ago. I held your father's crimes against you, and that was unfair of me." He cut off Nathaniel's objection. "It was. I should have known better than that, and it was unworthy of me, especially given everything you did for Lya. I hope you can forgive me for that."

Still looking slightly dazed, Nathaniel nodded slowly. "Accepted. And…thank you. You have no idea what this means."

"I think I might. But we don't need to talk about it." He cocked his head to the side and grinned, a mannerism so reminiscent of Lya it was startling. "And my name is Fergus, none of that 'my lord' nonsense."

Nathaniel grinned back and held his hand out to Fergus, who took it warmly in his own. Lya smiled, thinking that, somewhere, her father approved.

* * *

Zevran returned three days later. He strode into Lya and Alistair's sitting room, still covered in road dust and with Kade following close behind him. "I'm going to Gwaren," he announced.

"I-uh…. All right." Alistair said mildly. "Can we ask _why_ you're going to Gwaren?"

Zevran turned to Kade and took the large object the other man had been carrying. He tossed it onto the table, where is landed with a steely clatter. "_That_," he said tightly," is why I'm going to Gwaren."

All eyes stared at the yellow wyvern embossed on the front of the shield. A loud thunk startled them as Zevran tossed a large leather pouch on the table next to it, and then upended it, spilling what looked to be at least couple hundred sovereigns across the wood surface.

"I should have executed her," Alistair said quietly as Lya started to curse softly.

"Probably," Zevran agreed shortly. "She's either using people to try and hurt you, or someone is using her to try and hurt you. The goal is the same, either way." He tapped the shield. "If she is behind this, it's a clumsy attempt. But we cannot ignore the possibility. So I'm going to Gwaren."

"Zevran, I don't know if that's a good idea." Lya's voice was tense.

"Oh? And who would you rather send?" He looked at her defiantly, and she shifted uncomfortably.

"Listen, Zev, it's not that I don't think someone should go, but…." She looked around the room. The only other people in the room were Fergus and Nathaniel, who had finally been allowed off of bed rest. "This is not exactly the best time to discuss this."

"Ah," he said as he understood what she meant. "You do not wish anyone put in a compromising situation. Allow me to clarify. I am going to Gwaren for information, nothing more." A slight pause. "Yet."

Zevran looked at his friends and thought for a moment of how to explain. "Anora did not strike me as a stupid woman, and this attempt seems far removed from something she would try. The shield is too conspicuous, and the coin…. Let us just say these were no bandits. And true assassins would never carry it with them. There are several reasons why we found these things, and we cannot ignore the most obvious one.

"So I will go to Gwaren and find answers if they are to be found. And while it is not my preference, I will not take any…_permanent_ actions until I have consulted with you." He looked at Fergus and Nathaniel and gave a half smile. "I trust you gentlemen care enough about them, and yourselves, that none of this conversation will leave this room."

"Zev!" Lya gasped, shocked.

"Oh, _I_ am not threatening, my dear Grey Warden. But if there is some sort of nefarious plot, then any knowledge they have of our countermeasures puts them in danger." He grinned at her. "It is reassuring though that you think I would kill your brother and friend for being unable to keep their mouths shut. I was beginning to fear I was losing my reputation. It warms to heart to learn that is not so."

He began gathering the coins back into the pouch. "Now, I think I will keep these as my reward for crawling around in the woods for a week and half, looking for information, without a bath. Speaking of which, I am going to get one, get some sleep and I will see you when I return."


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

The bed beneath him was quite comfortable, and Zevran had to admire Anora's taste. For a rough logging town, Gwaren was still one of the largest cities in Ferelden, and Anora had outfitted her castle appropriately. Everything was beautiful, tasteful and expensive, much like the woman sleeping next to him.

Removing a dagger, he idly began trimming his nails as he waited for her to wake up. The past several days had yielded a good deal of information, one tidbit being that the teyrna always rose early, with the dawn, and did not summon her servants immediately.

Dawn slowly began to stain the horizon and, as if it were a signal, Anora stirred slightly. She stretched and yawned slightly, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"Good morning, my lady."

Anora's entire body jerked towards the sound of his voice. Her eyes widened in complete shock at the sight of a strange man in her bed. And then a swift flash of fear as she recognized him, swiftly locked behind a cool mask. He was impressed at her composure.

"How did you get in here?" she asked.

He laughed gently. "You wound me, my lady. I am an assassin. How do you _think_ I got in here?" She was not amused by his glib answer and her lips pressed together in a frown.

"So, they've finally let you off your leash," she said crisply. "I suppose you've come so that they can finally be rid of me. I can't say I'm surprised."

"What? No begging, no pleas for mercy? No throwing your lovely body at me in an attempt to sway me from my course? I swear, you Fereldans are no fun at all." A smile curled the corners of his mouth. "And now, my dear lady, why would they wish to be rid of you now, hmm? Is there perhaps something you know that would make you certain that I've come to kill you?"

She said nothing for a moment, a faint frown marring the smoothness of her brow. "Do they need a reason? In truth, I had not expected to survive my father long. I guess I should be grateful for the time I did get," she said, finishing with a trace of bitterness.

Zevran regarded her thoughtfully. He didn't trust her, that went without saying. But he had learned a long time ago how to read people. Right now, all his senses were telling him that Anora was being honest; that she really believed Lya and Alistair had finally just decided to remove her.

He tapped the flat of the blade against his palm as he thought. Anora kept looking him in the face, but couldn't keep her eyes from flicking towards the dagger. She was nervous, but it seemed more a genuine fear of death than of someone afraid all their secrets were about to be revealed.

"We can avoid all of the unpleasantness that often comes with these things if you simply tell me the truth, my lady. What do you know about the attempt on Teyrn Cousland's life?"

"_What_?!"

He clucked his tongue. "And that was almost convincing. Come now, there is no need to hide anything. The truth shall, as they say, set you free."

Her mouth, which had fallen open in shock, snapped shut. "Someone tried to have Fergus killed?" Her tone was even, but there was still shock and bewilderment behind it.

"Indeed. Just over three weeks ago as he was returning home from the Landsmeet. But you already knew that."

"No, I did not!" she snapped. "Believe what you want about me, but I would never harm the Cousland family, or involve myself in anything that could place them in danger."

"Oh? Somehow, I find that hard to believe. Enlighten me."

"I doubt you would understand."

"Try me." His eyes and voice hardened. "There is evidence implicating you, and their Majesties are most upset. Your life rides on how convincing I find your story."

She frowned and took a deep breath, sweeping the bedclothes back and standing. Retrieving a dressing gown laying over a chair, she slipped into it and tied the belt as she thought. Zevran remained where he was on the bed. Even if she screamed, he could kill her and be out the window before anyone came. It would sloppier than he liked, but he had no fear of letting her move around. If she went for the door, however….

"I am a teyrna," she said finally. "The daughter of a hero, and the second highest noble after the king. The only other people who were my equals were the Couslands. I did not see them frequently, that is true, but every time I did they were always the very soul of respect and courtesy. After my mother…died, I became close to Eleanor. I often visited them in Denerim, both during the Landsmeet and when they made the occasional trips to the capital.

"They were—are—a good, honorable family. Bryce and Eleanor's deaths at Howe's hands were unforgivable." He voice was low and angry. "I will _never_ be a party to such vileness as attempting to have one of their children killed. Whatever my feelings towards the queen might be, you have my word that I would never do anything to harm her family."

Zevran slipped off the bed, a slow, sinuous movement. He crossed the floor to stand before her; close, too close, knowing it would make her uncomfortable and unsettle her. He tapped the dagger lightly on her collarbone in almost a thoughtful gesture. She stiffened slightly, but did not attempt to pull away.

"So tell me, exactly, why we should trust you."

"Have I ever broken my word?"

"No, and that is in fact one of the reasons why you actually woke up this morning. But you are nothing if not self-serving, my lady. You do what is best for you. Do not tell me that if Lya had told you outright what she was going to do at the Landsmeet you would have stood by meekly and let it happen."

She had the good grace to look slightly guilty. "We all know how I feel about what happened," she said quietly. "I did what I thought was best and so did she. I cannot fault her for being what she is, and I would hope that they feel the same way about me. That being said, killing the Teyrn of Highever, and the queen's brother, hardly seems the best way to put myself back on the throne, don't you agree?"

She sighed slightly, and then straightened. "I know of no other way to convince you. Do what you must, but I have _always_ been loyal to the crown."

"Very well. I believe you."

"I—what?"

He laughed easily. "You sound so surprised. You are correct, however. Attempting to kill the teyrn is an incredibly stupid way to strike a blow at the Warden, though it nearly succeeded. But there is still something odd about this whole business. You will be watched, Anora, and watched closely. One false step and…." He let the threat hang there.

"I think you have a rat, my lady, and we need to find it. You are a very convenient person to pin conspiracies on, after all. It's as much for your protection as anyone else's. You know your people better than anyone I will be sending. Watch for _anything_ suspicious, and when you find it, you _will_ tell us."

"Of course."

Zevran nodded and studied her for a long moment. His instincts told him she was telling him the truth. His instincts also told him that something was off in Gwaren. He could be wrong, he had been in the past, but he didn't think he was wrong now. His gut told him part of the problem was here, but he hadn't uncovered anything in the handful of days he had been here. It bothered him; he couldn't protect against a threat he did not see.

His people would begin searching when they arrived, but they were also going to have to count on Anora's help. He hoped her sense of self-preservation was as strong as it seemed. He gave a brief nod and turned for the door.

"Zevran," she called quietly, and he turned back to look at her with a raised eyebrow. "Was Fergus badly hurt?"

"He suffered only a minor injury. Nathaniel Howe, however, was nearly killed defending him."

"I see," she replied gravely. "Please, when you return to Denerim, give my best wishes for a swift recovery."

He sketched a quick half-bow. "It would be my pleasure." He reached for the door again, and left quickly. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something.


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Nathaniel ducked into an empty room quickly to avoid the sentry walking down the hall, cursing silently that his own first foray back into the Vigil was partly responsible for his current difficulties. He waited, ear pressed to the door for the sound of footsteps to recede and cautiously continued on his way. He could not afford to be caught moving suspiciously; none of them could. If Delano had the slightest provocation to imprison or send him away, all of their careful planning would be for naught.

Four months ago, just before he was wounded, Nathaniel had told Lya and Alistair that he thought things might be improving. He had been wrong. Upon his return to the Vigil, he had found that Delano and the other Wardens were openly critical of Lya. Her choices during the Blight and the events surrounding the Architect were openly discussed and discredited in front of the younger Wardens. The time since his return had fared no better. The younger Wardens, and the Vigil's knights and soldiers, were all Fereldans who saw Lya as a hero; to them she really was the Savior of Ferelden. But when you live every day hearing nothing but criticism of your hero from the people above you in authority, people you also saw as heroes, your views will begin to change. Nathaniel was watching it happen and it galled him. Something had to be done to combat it, and he couldn't risk himself, not now.

But there were others he could risk; others who not only could handle any trouble that came at them, but would openly invite it. He had thought a long time about going through with this plan, knowing how greatly it could endanger his friends. Each day he delayed was a day lost to turn things around and eventually he decided he had to act. That was why he now found himself sneaking through the halls of his former home, holding a clandestine meeting, to decide how to defend friends against their own.

He wasn't surprised to see that only Justice had made it to the small room in an older section of the keep so far. Justice had more latitude to move around, being a corpse and not needing to sleep. Delano saw him as a completely neutral entity, a façade they had worked hard to perfect and maintain, and Nathaniel prayed it had been enough.

Justice nodded to him as he entered and they waited in silence for the others. Minutes ticked by, and Nathaniel was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong when the door opened. Anders ducked his head in for a quick look around before smiling in relief and closing the door behind him swiftly. Silence returned as the three men waited for their last companion. Anders rocked nervously back and forth on his feet and Nathaniel shot him an irritated glance. Waiting was bad enough; he didn't need a twitchy mage making his taut nerves any worse.

The door swung open and Oghren marched in, shutting it with a loud thud. "Maker's breath!" Nathaniel hissed. "Why not simply announce where you were going tonight?"

"Bah! You worry too much. Besides, those Wardens Delano has on watch are suckers for free gifts. I doubt they'll wake up for hours, and when they do, they're not going to remember much." He laughed and settled down in one of the chairs around the small table. "So, you going to tell us why we're up at this ancestor-forsaken hour?"

Nathaniel sighed and drew out a chair for himself, gesturing for Anders and Justice to take seats as well. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "We have a problem."

Oghren snorted. "Just the one? That's a switch."

"We're losing the Wardens, the new ones. They're forgetting everything Lya did, or having it remembered in a twisted fashion."

"What do you suggest we do?" Justice asked quietly.

"I think what Howe is trying to say is that we need to start reminding them of just who she is." Anders looked over at Nathaniel. "Or have I missed the mark?"

"That's exactly it. But it's not going to be that easy." He looked over at Oghren. "How are you at telling stories?"

"I'm no bard, if that's what you're asking. But I can spin a pretty good yarn when the situation calls for it."

"Especially when you're drunk," Anders muttered.

"You don't need to be a bard. You're the only one of us who was with her during the Blight. Out of all of us, you're the only one with any real authority to talk about what it was like."

The dwarf frowned. "I joined her pretty late, you know. You think I'm the best one for this?"

"You're the _only_ one for this, Oghren. You were there in the Deep Roads with her. Through the broodmother-" Oghren shuddered. "The broodmother, Caradin and Branka, the High Dragon, the Landsmeet, the final battle, all of that. And you traveled with them. You heard all the stories. You were her friend before the rest of us even knew her name."

Oghren nodded slowly. "Aye, I can do that. Delano ain't going to like it, and that's all right by me." He grinned at his friends. "Things were getting too sodding dull around here anyway. I'll tell your tales for you, Howe. We'll show all of them what the Warden's really made of."

"Thank you, Oghren. We also need someone who was here when Lya first came. Someone who was here from the start of everything that happened in Amaranthine." Three pairs of eyes slid over the Anders and he look startled.

"Me? You want me to do it? Delano already doesn't like me. This isn't going to make me any more popular with him, you know."

"That's exactly the point, Anders," Nathaniel explained patiently. "He expects you to cause trouble. You do have a reputation."

"And a well earned one, I might add. I know what you're getting at. You want us to draw their attention so you can do whatever sneaky stuff it is you have planned. Fine, fine, I'll see what I can do. Don't know why you think anyone will listen to me, though."

"Oh, they'll listen," Oghren said. "Being able to boil a man's eyes right out of the sockets tends to make people pretty attentive."

Nathaniel looked at his friends. "It will be dangerous. You don't have to do this, you know."

Oghren snorted again. "Ain't like I have a choice. The skirt here might be able to back down, but I won't."

Anders gave Oghren a challenging look. "Are you calling me a coward?"

"I didn't say that. Jumped to that conclusion awfully quickly, though. Think maybe you're trying to hide something?"

"Why you foul-smelling, sodden excuse for a dwarf! Is this a challenge? Fine. First one of us to get ourselves killed by Delano wins."

"You're on, mage."

Nathaniel sighed, but in amusement and relief. He wasn't sure if Anders would be willing to go through with this. He didn't doubt the man's commitment or loyalty to Lya, but continually being hunted by templars had made him a little skittish.

"And what do you wish me to do?" Justice's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts.

"You…. I want you to listen and watch. Gauge reactions as best you can, report back to me on anything—anyone—that seems off." Justice nodded and Nathaniel turned back to the bickering mage and dwarf.

"Don't overdo it," he warned. "Tell stories, reminds the Wardens who she is and what she did, but don't get yourself killed over it."

"Let the blighters do their worst. We're _her_ Wardens; we're not going to back down from this."

Nathaniel nodded and stood, the others rising with him. He looked at each of them in turn. "When we leave here, we can't meet again. I'm going to have to keep my distance from you while I play good little Warden. You need to stay away from Justice, as well. We can't jeopardize his neutrality. The two of you will be alone for this, do you understand?"

"Aye, aye, I understand. Don't need to tell me twice. We're sticking our necks out for the Commander and you're not going to be there if they hold our danglers over a fire. Got it. Anything else before I go and see if those boys left anything in my flask?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "I don't think so. Just…" he paused and grinned. "Make the stories _good_, Oghren."

Oghren chuckled and grinned wickedly. He opened the door and walked out, not even bothering to see if the way was clear. Nathaniel wished he had the dwarf's optimism. As Anders was going to leave, Nathaniel held him back for a moment. "Listen, if the pressure gets to be too much…."

"Run? Yes, I'd figured that out. If it comes to that, I assume we can go to Denerim?"

"Yes. She'll protect you. You may have to force Oghren to go with you, though."

"Don't worry. I'll just threaten to set his beard on fire. That always seems to get him going."

Nathaniel clasped Anders's hand in his own. "Be careful." Anders gave him a wolfish grin.

"We'll be fine."

Oghren started his campaign about a week later in typical Oghren fashion. He got slightly drunk, by his standards, and proceeded to regale the dinner table with the tale of how they killed the broodmother. Everyone, even the foreign Wardens, listened with a sort of horrified fascination. Nathaniel, sitting well apart from Oghren, admired the dwarf's use of the word "jiggled" and the effect it had on all present. He had battle the Mother, he knew how disgusting it was, but Oghren in all his pithiness gave it an entirely new flair.

A quick glance at where Delano sat confirmed Nathaniel's suspicions. Delano looked displeased, but said nothing. Oghren carried a certain amount of weight and respect around the Vigil, and taking him to task would not go over very well.

Anders's campaign was more subtle. He would talk with Wardens and soldiers one-on-one or a few at a time. His manner was always pleasant, always charming, and always driving home everything Lya had done for Amaranthine. Casual comments like "Oh, that's where we killed the first talking darkspawn we met." or "That's the armor we found after escaping from the Fade. Did you know she's done that twice?" In a way, his simple, matter of fact delivery brought home her deeds more completely for a lot of the men.

The change was not immediate. Oghren did a surprisingly good job pacing himself. He didn't regale them with tales every night, limiting himself to once or twice a week. But he would drop hints, and between him and Anders, the men began asking for stories.

There was a slight shift in the atmosphere of the Vigil, as Anders and Oghren deliberately put themselves against Delano. Along with the apparent shifting of sympathies towards them and Lya, there was also an increase in tension. Some of Delano's Wardens were clearly irritated by what was happening, and some of the younger Wardens were now clearly mistrustful of things they had been told previously. He wondered how long they could keep it up, and considered whether or not to tell Oghren and Anders to back off. If there were open confrontations, it would undo much of the work they had accomplished.

He held off, though, when Justice reported that he had been approached by some of the older Wardens for his account of things. Nathaniel thought that maybe they were making some headway against ingrained prejudices the older Wardens had. So he let his friends continue, and hoped that it would be enough.


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

A dark figure slips through the halls of Gwaren Castle, moving from shadow to shadow in complete silence. Stopping before a large and heavy door, nimble fingers produce a set of lock picking tools and within moments the door is swinging open noiselessly. The figure slips inside and the door swings shut, closing without a sound. Once inside, the figure moves towards the large, elaborate desk. Lock picking tools are used once more to open a drawer, and then again when a hidden panel is moved aside to reveal a document chest.

Carefully, the chest is opened and papers removed one at a time as the figure keeps careful track of the order and placement of the correspondence. Holding the first of the papers carefully, the figure moves towards the window, using the bright light of the moon to see by. For long hours the figure crouches there, out of sight of the window, moving only to return one paper to the desk and retrieve another. Eyes study the words upon the papers, lips moving soundlessly as words are committed to memory. Fingers trace slow patterns in the air, almost as if the person were writing in the air.

When the light begins to change, the figure returns the papers to the chest, locks it, returns the chest to the desk, slides the hidden panel back in place and relocks the desk. The figure moves towards the door, pressing an ear against it to listen. It opens the door and slips out, relocking the door quickly and moving swiftly back the way it had come.

The figure returns the next night, and again every night the moon is both bright enough and visible enough to cast enough light in the room. One night the figure unlocks a different drawer and removes a small metal object. From a hidden pocket, the figure produces a small wooden box. The box is opened to reveal a smooth expanse of wax filling each half. Slowly and carefully, the figure presses the seal into each the wax on both sides several times. It examines the impressions made and finally nods in satisfaction. A soft cloth carefully cleans the seal and replaces it exactly as it was, and the wooden box is closed carefully and returned to the hidden pocket.

Over the months, the figure returns and spends silent hours looking and reading. Eventually, the figure brings its own papers and holds them carefully next to the ones that are always kept locked in the desk. Eyes dart between the two, comparing, and the figure smiles.]

* * *

Alistair looked down at the papers in front of him and sighed heavily. He rested his elbows on the edge of the table and let his head fall into his hands to rest. There were quiet footsteps behind him, and then Lya's hands slid underneath his vest to rub his shoulders through the heavy material of his shirt. Her strong fingers kneaded and pressed the knotted flesh, and Alistair groaned, half in relief and half in frustration.

"This is bad, Lya. This is really, really bad."

"I know." Her voice was quiet as her hands continued to work on releasing the tension in his shoulders and back. He looked down at the papers again, not really seeing them; not needing to. They all said the same thing: help.

Winter this year had come fast and hard and _cold_. Alistair couldn't remember a winter that had ever been so harsh and even Eamon struggled to remember the last time it had been so bad. Frost and ice lined the hallways of the palace itself. Rooms were always dark as shutters were kept closed in a futile attempt to keep any more cold from getting in. Most rooms themselves were kept closed and in a few select rooms fires were always kept burning to provide some warmth to the inhabitants. They had had ended up moving things from the study into their apartments so they wouldn't have to keep a separate fire going to get work done. The twins had also been moved into their rooms.

In Denerim, the never-ending snow storms kept everyone inside and streets were nearly deserted. Alistair found it eerie to look outside and see nothing but empty, snow-filled streets. Only smoke rising from chimneys gave any sign that there still life in the city.

Alistair wondered how long he would keep seeing smoke rising from those chimneys. Ferelden was a harsh country, its citizens used to brutal winter weather. But this winter was sapping their will and strength, and most importantly, their supplies of firewood.

Firewood. Of all the problems Alistair had expected that he and Lya would face, that had not been one of them. People were keeping hearths burning high to keep from freezing to death. The result was that supplies of dry hardwood to burn were running low. If push came to shove, people could burn greenwood, but that would be a last resort.

From across Ferelden, and from the Bannorn in particular, came pleas for help and assistance and there was little he could do. They had advised people to conserve their supplies, to combine households so that what they had would last longer. Word had been sent to do the same across the country, but they had no way of knowing how many people heeded the advice.

They knew the elves had responded; they hadn't even waited to take action. Homes in the Alienage were flimsier than in the rest of the city, so the elves were faring far worse than the rest of Denerim's inhabitants. Several houses had already collapsed from the weight of the snow, and while there had been injuries, there were thankfully no deaths. Shianni had told them that the other bright side was that it provided the elves with more fuel to burn. Alistair was doing his best to get the Alienage the supplies it needed, but he feared when spring finally came the toll would be far higher there than in the rest of the city.

Alistair and Lya had also written to Anora when it became clear how hard this winter was going to be. Gwaren was a major source of timber, and they needed whatever help she could give them. She had responded that she would do what she could, but winter was not a good time to log. It was hard to cut down trees when your loggers kept falling into ten foot snow drifts, and only able to work short shifts before frostbite started claiming extremities. Once those challenges were overcome, the wood then had to be dried at least for a bit before it would burn well, and then they had to somehow try and get it across the country. He was thankful that the Blight had prompted improvements to Ferelden's infrastructure, but better roads did little good right now.

Thinking about the Blight and why those improvements had been necessary in the first place caused another worry to force itself into his mind. A series of late storms that autumn had ruined the end of the harvest. Most farm holds had already harvested the bulk of their crops, but about a quarter of this year's harvest was lost. It was a tough break, but at the time it had seemed manageable.

It nagged at Lya though. With the winter so harsh, it was likely spring would arrive late. And once it did, all the snowmelt would leave fields too muddy to plant right away. Harvests would be later that usual at best, too late at worst. Right now, there was enough food. But by the time spring came, reserves would be low and Lya worried that any delay with planting would mean the first harvests would come too late.

She had discussed her concerns with Alistair first and they had decided to renegotiate agreements for grain with Orlais and Nevarra at the beginning of winter rather than waiting until it became necessary. It had been a risk. If they were wrong, and spring came early, then a significant amount of money would be tied up in food supplies they didn't need. But Lya felt it was necessary and Alistair had learned a long time ago to trust her instincts.

That decision, however, had occasioned the first true argument between Lya and Eamon he had ever seen. Eamon felt they were being premature, that they should wait and see what happened. Lya had disagreed vehemently. Tempers were running short, and the discussion quickly flared out of control. For the first time, Alistair had seen Lya pull rank with Eamon and he was forced to jump and play peacemaker before irreparable harm was done. The relationship was still strained between the two and Alistair hoped better weather would also help repair the damage done there.

"What are we going to do?"

Lya sighed behind him. "What we can, Alistair. What we can. There isn't much more that we can do."

"I feel like I'm letting all these people down. They're all depending on me to do the right thing and help them and I have to tell them I can't." He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his face wearily. "How do I deal with that? What good am I if I can't save them?"

She leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "Stop it," she said firmly. "You are dealing with it, and you are doing the best anyone could ask of you. You have shown yourself to be a good king, a fair king, and they trust you. Everyone knows you will do what you feel is best for Ferelden and I don't expect them to start doubting you now. They will follow you as you see them through this."

"Yeah. Right up until they lynch me."

She laughed. "Well, they'll have to go through me first, so I think you're safe."

"Well, there is that. Hmm, I suppose that makes me feel better." He reached up to capture on of her hands and then slid his own up her arm. Alistair frowned as he realized how cold she felt, even through the sleeve of her shirt. He stood up and turned towards her, noticing not for the first time how tired she looked. "You're cold."

"Well, I do have this nice warm husband to take care of that."

"I'm not joking, Lya." He gave her a little shake. "You need to take care of yourself. I don't care if you have to wrap yourself in blankets to keep warm. Don't run yourself down. I need you too much."

She leaned forward to wrap her arms around him and he pulled her close. "I know, I know," she said. "I am being careful. I just had to get some fresh air. It feels like we've been cooped up in here for weeks." She sighed. "And don't tell me you don't feel the same way. I overheard you asking Kylon if any taverns were open." He grinned crookedly at her and she reached up to tweak his hair. "You need a haircut."

"Mm, not until the spring, I think. It's cheaper and better looking than wearing a hat." He ran a hand through her own dark locks which were nearly to her shoulders. "I could say the same for you."

"Right, well, I've never looked good in hats so I'll just borrow your excuse." He chuckled and lean down to give her a kiss. They broke off reluctantly when the door to their bedchambers opened and Shaye came out. She gave them a small smile.

"The twins?" Lya asked.

"Just fine. They're sleeping now, but they're definitely better. They'll most likely be tired for a few more days while they fully recover." Alistair breathed a sigh of relief. Duncan and Elwyn had come down with something a couple weeks earlier and it had worried both he and Lya. Laying in bed, listening to his children struggle to breathe was the most agonizing thing he had done since waiting for Lya to wake up after killing the Archdemon.

They had been getting better, but it was reassuring to hear that they really were out of the woods. Lya, still in his arms, turned her head to look at Shaye. "How's Wynne doing?"

Shaye frowned slightly. "She's all right," she said slowly. "She is older, and this winter it taking a lot out of her. She seems perfectly healthy, just a touch on the frail side. I'd imagine she'll be fine, however. It's hard to keep that woman down for long." They both let out a rueful chuckle and Shaye grinned. "You know she wouldn't want you wasting time worrying about her. I'll let her know you asked, though. Perhaps if she feels you're coddling her it'll encourage her to prove just how frail she isn't." Shaye yawned. "And now, I am going to bed. I have my own warm husband waiting for me."

"Night, Shaye. Thank you."

"Anytime, your Majesties. I'd suggest you get some sleep as well."

"Understood, Shaye," Lya said dryly. After Shaye closed the door behind her, Lya tugged Alistair towards the bedroom. They stopped for a moment to peer into Duncan and Elwyn's crib. The two were tangled up with each other, tucked in warmly and sound asleep. Quick kisses were brushed across sleeping foreheads and Alistair turned towards the bed. He shot a look at Lya and raised an eyebrow.

"Just how tired are you?"

She bit her lip and gave the crib a quick glance. "Not _that_ tired, but we'll have to be quiet."

"Oh, you mean just like old times back at camp? I think I can manage that."

"Good."


	31. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Winter wore on, and like they had feared, spring was late in coming. It was petty and completely inappropriate, and while she resisted saying "I told you so" to his face, Lya couldn't help the knowing look she gave Eamon when they met to figure out how to dispense the grain and supplies the people would need over the summer. In a way, she also hated being right because it would have been better for the people if she had been wrong.

Sighing, she dipped her pen into the inkwell again. She was going to have to make up with Eamon somehow and sometime soon. They were less effective because of the tension between them and they couldn't afford that right now. Lya knew the older man well enough to know she was going to have to swallow a little bit of her pride and make the first overture. But not today. Today, she had other things to worry about.

The letter before her was nearly finished and she read it over once more before adding a couple lines to the bottom. They hadn't received any word from Orzammar in awhile, and what news they did hear was troubling. What Lya found more troubling was that she hadn't heard from Leliana in over a year.

The bard had thrown herself into the challenge Alistair had given her with all of her customary enthusiasm. She had gone to Orzammar and spent most of her time their investigating and researching, especially with the Legion of the Dead. Her training allowed her to navigate even the dwarven political arena with grace and tact to secure what information and support she needed. Leliana had only returned to Denerim twice since the wedding, but she at least communicated with them, if infrequently.

But they had heard nothing in over a year. Lya had been so busy, so consumed with what she was doing, that it was only a chance comment from Zevran that made her realize how long it had been. And then once she realized that. She had to wait until the weather improved enough to send messengers to Orzammar.

Her letter to Leliana was already finished and sealed, and she read through the official letter to Harrowmont she was writing once more before looking up at Alistair. "How are you letters coming?"

"Slow. No one is happy with the way things are being distributed, everyone things they need, not to mention deserve, more. Some of them," he added, picked up a letter and gesturing with it, "are apparently annoyed that we didn't let the elves starve or freeze to death when supplies could have been put to better use elsewhere. Rubbing his forehead wearily, he looked back down at the missive he was working on. "I'm glad the Landsmeet is later this year than usual. It'll give everyone more time to get a better grasp on what the situation is, and that, hopefully, will alleviate some concerns."

"Things are still probably going to be tense. We should probably arrange to meet in private with those of the Bannorn who are the unhappiest." Lya shook her head. "I can't say I agree with where they're coming from, but I do understand it. We're going to have to be careful in exactly how much we promise, but listening won't cost us anything." Sliding her letter across the table to Alistair, she said, "Here, how does this read to you?" He set aside his own letter to Arl Wulff to look it over.

"Looks good to me. You would think we would hear more from him, you know."

"I know, and it worries me," she admitted. "The last time we heard from Leliana, she mentioned the problems he was having. I would have to assume they've only gotten worse, which isn't good." She frowned. "I _told_ him he needed to be a strong king. If he had put his foot down when he took the throne, this wouldn't be happening."

"You can't run his kingdom for him, Lya," Alistair said gently. "He has to do what he feels is best. I'm inclined to agree though. Not that I know all that much about this king business," he said, dodging the piece of scrap paper she tossed at him, "but being more firm when he started probably would have helped." He made a face. "And that was before the First Divine got her knickers in a twist over the whole Burkel situation."

"Oh, I know!" she cried. "What a mess! Andraste's flaming sword, I don't think I've ever wanted dwarves to be more like Oghren than when that happened. He's willing to let things he doesn't care about pass by. I don't know why everything down there has to be so cutthroat and bloodthirsty."

Alistair looked slightly askance at his wife. "Yes, says the woman who learned all those berserker techniques from Oghren." She waved his words off.

"That's in _battle_. They don't have to do everything that way."

"I don't think they see any difference, love. Fighting, with words or blades, seems to be how they do everything."  
"You're probably right. I don't know why I keep hoping things will be different or change."

He laughed. "It's the eternal optimist in you, my dear. Don't worry about it. There's nothing you can do about it, unless you want to go and cow the Assembly into doing what you want again."

"Pass."

"I thought as much." He paused. "Although, if these rumors about an Exalted March are true…."

Lya shuddered slightly. "Let's not borrow trouble. I can't believe the First Divine is that foolish. The dwarves are our first line of defense against the darkspawn. She wouldn't really, would she?" She groaned. "Who am I kidding? Maybe we can write her a letter or something."

"Oooh, yes, because that will go over so well. 'Hello, your Reverence. How are you? Lovely weather we're having. This is the King and Queen of Ferelden. You know, the ex-templar and the woman who convinced him to divulge all those Chantry secrets. Also the monarchs who gave the mages more freedom. We heard you were planning to slaughter the dwarves and we would really appreciate if you didn't. We sort of need them to keep the darkspawn in check so they don't overrun all of Thedas. Thanks!' Oh yes, I'm sure that will go over well."

Lya shook her head ruefully. "Yes, I suppose that _would_ go over poorly. I guess there isn't much we can do besides wait and see." She held out a hand and he passed the letter back over for her to sign and seal. There was a knock on the door as she was sliding the missives into a larger envelope and it opened to reveal Zevran and a guard.

The guard bowed to Alistair and Lya. "Greetings, your Majesties. I've just arrived from Highever. Teyrn Fergus asked me to bring you these." He extended a satchel to Lya.

Rising, she took the bundle from him and cleared a spot on the table to lay it down. "How was the journey from Highever?"

"Slow going, your Majesty. Sections of the road are still washed out, but it's still passable. Travel is just slower at the moment." She nodded as she opened the satchel to remove the contents.

"Is everything all right in Highever?"

"Yes, your Majesty. The winter was hard, but we've come through it just fine. The teyrn wanted this to get to you as soon as possible, though, since he will be unable to leave the teyrnir for awhile."

"Of course. He has a lot to do. If you would speak to Captain Kylon, he will find you quarters. And if you don't mind, I would like it if you joined us for dinner. I like to hear whatever I can about Highever."

"I would be most honored, you Majesty." He bowed to each of them in turn and Zevran opened the door to show him out. The contents of the satchel were laid out on the desk now, and there were only two things. A letter, which she broke the seal on quickly, and a sort of case made from two thin, flat sheets of wood connected with tiny hinges and bound with a leather cord. The letter was a standard missive from a teyrn to his king, and she handed it to Alistair as she unwrapped the leather cording from around the wood and opened it.

She gasped softly as she saw what was inside. Carefully placed on one of the sheets of wood was an ink drawing of Fergus, Dara and a very tiny baby. Fergus and Dara looked absolutely radiant with joy and she felt the tears in her eyes. With all that had been going on, it had completely slipped her mind that their child would be born over the winter. She was glad that Fergus had waited and sent the news this way rather than trying to get a rider through during the winter.

A note was pinned to the bottom of the picture. She removed it gently and handed the wooden frame to Alistair and Zevran as she opened it.

_Sis,_

_I just wanted to let you know that everyone is fine, and to show you a picture of your nephew. I know things are busy for you and Alistair right now, but Dara and I would love to have you visit whenever you can. Please, bring Duncan and Elwyn! You can send a message back with Ser Conall, and we look forward to seeing you._

_Take care of yourself, and enjoy this drawing of your nephew._

_Fergus_

_P.S. I listened to what you said and didn't name him after you or Alistair. Say hello to Nathaniel Bryce Cousland._

She started to laugh and when Alistair and Zevran looked at her curiously, she extended the note to them. She wondered how their friend would like having a namesake. When the men were done looking at the paper, she took the drawing back for another look, and then glanced at Alistair.

He looked at her speculatively. "Later this summer after the Landsmeet, you think? The twins will be almost two by then and I think it'd be safe to travel. Besides, it would be good to get away for a little while and take a break."

"Traveling on the road with toddlers, eh?" Zevran grinned at them. "That sounds like a more difficult adventure than anything we attempted. I am sure you will have lots of fun."

Lya gave him a guileless look. "Oh, but you'll be coming, too, Zev. We couldn't possibly think of leaving you here all by yourself to get lonely. Besides, I think we all feel safer when you're with us."

He opened his mouth the retort and then laughed ruefully. "Ah, 'tis true. You have me there, my Grey Warden. Very well, I shall accompany you. But let me say that I do not think I get paid nearly enough for the some of the things you ask of me. I think before we go anywhere we need to renegotiate my fee."

"I think we can arrange that." She ran a finger over the drawing and smiled. She had only been back to Highever once since the Blight ended, and it had been very, very hard. The thought of going back to Highever, this time surrounded by friends and family, and being able to make good memories to help erase the bad ones, was wonderful.

* * *

Osric looked at the papers before him and smiled. Things were coming along nicely, very nicely. All reports out of Ferelden and Orlais were favorable and they were so very close to being able to proceed with the next step. It was as if the Maker Himself were smiling upon and blessing Osric's efforts.

The latest report from Orlais had put to rest some of his concerns. He had not been exactly pleased when Celene had allowed the Fereldans to purchase grain and supplies, but her reasoning was very logical. With relations between the two countries improving, it would have been highly suspicious for her _not_ to trade. And neither one wanted the populace starving. He just disliked that it strengthened Lya and Alistair's positions.

Another loose end had also been tied up in Val Royeaux, and he has stressed to Celene the importance of keeping that end hidden. It was vital that no word of it reached Ferelden. The Empress assured him that it was taken care of, and he knew she was smart enough not to botch it.

The report also showed troop numbers reaching the desired levels. As soon as they were both convinced they had the numbers they needed, they would have to begin moving them carefully. At that critical juncture, it was vital information be tightly controlled and suspicion and rumors kept to a minimum.

_Soon_, he thought. Very soon it would all come together and the Grey Wardens would once again have the power they needed to combat their ancient foe.


	32. Chapter 31

Hey, all. I've been updating on a M/W/F schedule, but I just wanted to let you know updating will slow down a bit. This section is tricky in particular and I want to be careful with it. While, eventually sometime in the future I will most likely go back and rewrite some of what I'm unhappy with, I want to do these upcoming chapters right the first time. Thank you for sticking with me and for your kind comments. I truly appreciate it.

* * *

**Chapter 31**

Lya threw back the blankets in disgust. It wasn't unusual for her to be up late, but tonight she had tossed and turned all night, unable to get to sleep at all. Even Alistair's solid presence hadn't been enough to keep her asleep for more than an hour or so. She looked out the window; it was still dark out, the first light of dawn not even a glimmer on the horizon. Well, if sleep was going to prove elusive, she should at least make herself useful.

She removed a simple dress hanging in the wardrobe and dressed quickly. She wondered wryly if the staff ever gossiped about the fact that their queen almost never wore nightgowns to bed. She dug a pair of soft leather shoes out from under a chair and slipped them on, then leaned over to plant a soft kiss on Alistair's cheek before leaving. Golanth rolled over in front of the fireplace as she passed by and she crouched to scratch his tummy. He wagged his stubby tail in appreciation. "Go back to sleep, boy," she whispered. "You and the twins can go play in the garden in the morning if it's warm enough." His tongue lolled out and he whined softly in agreement. Giving his stomach one last pat, she watched him curl back up and slipped out the door.

She nodded to the two guards standing outside the door and informed them she would be in the study. They nodded in reply and remained at their post. The study was at the end of the hall and they didn't need to walk her to the door.

She ducked briefly into Duncan's and Elwyn's room. She gave each one a few kisses and smoothed their hair. They had turned two several months ago and she marveled at how big they were getting. Their vocabulary had exploded in the last few months, and they were full of questions. And they were becoming little people; developing their own personalities and the differences between the two were starting to emerge. Elwyn was by far the more stubborn of the two, and Lya could already foresee the battles that were going to be fought there. She wondered if she had been like that as a child, and wished her parents were still there. Maybe she could ask Fergus.

The hallway was empty as she walked to the study, which wasn't very surprising. At this hour, anyone in their right mind would be tucked into a snug bed. The study was dark and cool. Using a striker on the desk, she quickly lit a lamp and pondered the cold hearth. No, she didn't feel like starting a fire right now. Winter though it was, she wasn't cold enough to put the effort in that a fire would require.

She settled into her chair, kicking her shoes off underneath the desk and curling her feet under her. Her hands moved indecisively for a moment before opening a drawer. Harrowmont had finally responded to her inquiries about Leliana. Her friend had left Orzammar nearly a year and a half earlier and hadn't returned since. The dwarven king had finally sent someone to ask the Legion of the Dead if they knew anything, and had been told that she had left one day and promised to return before too long.

And that was the last anyone had heard or seen from Leliana. Lya knew Leliana could take care of herself, but her absence and lack of communication was worrying. She looked over the letter and wondered again if she should send someone herself to Orzammar to ask. It was quite possible Leliana _had_ told someone where she was going and Harrowmont simply hadn't dug around enough to find out. Nodding, she removed some parchment from the desk. Tomorrow she would ask Zevran to send one of his people. A short letter would have to be drafted, though, to both Harrowmont and the Legion. She could do that now.

The finishing touches were being added when a slight sound at the door made Lya look up. One of the elven servants had poked her head into the room and was looking around.

"Can I help you?" The woman started and dropped into an immediate curtsey.

"I-I apologize, your Majesty! I was coming up to get started cleaning some of the unused rooms and noticed the door was open, so I thought I would check. I mean, your study is due for a cleaning, and it's so hard to get it done during the day that I thought maybe I would see who it was and if I could do it now. I'm so sorry to have disturbed you!"

"There's no need to apologize. You're not disturbing me at all." Lya gestured to the desk in front of her. "I'm just working on a few things here. If you need to do anything, don't let my presence stop you."

"I couldn't possibly-"

"Please, it's all right…. I'm sorry; I don't know your name."

"It's Selia, your Majesty." The elf was still looking at the floor, speaking in a voice not much more than a whisper. If there was anything Lya hated about being queen, it was this. What she wouldn't give to have servants like she had grown up with in Highever.

"Thank you, Selia. If you need to get work done, please just do it. I suspect it'll be easier on both of us in the long run." She smiled at the woman, hoping to ease her anxiety. The elf's eyes glanced up at her quickly before looking back down. She bobbed her head quickly.

"O-Of course, your Majesty. I will be as quick as I can, I promise." Lya nodded and turned her attention back to her papers as Selia set her basket down and began removing soft cloths and polish. Selia was indeed quiet as she went about her work, and Lya found herself quite able to ignore any sounds the woman made as she cleaned.

The sound of breaking glass caused her head to jerk up and look over her shoulder towards the maid. Selia stood before a case with a small pile of broken glass that had moments ago been a small vase on the floor before her. The maid looked horrified. "Oh! Oh, your Majesty, I'm so sorry!"

Lya sighed almost inaudibly and unfolded herself from her chair. She reached down beside the desk to pick up the small waste basket and walked over to the maid, mindful of her bare feet. Dropping to one knee, she reached for a larger piece of glass and dropped it in the basket.

"Oh, please, your Majesty, you don't have to do that!" the woman protested.

"Nonsense," Lya replied. "Let's just get the big pieces cleaned up and then you can find a dustpan to deal with the smaller fragments, and we can both get back to work."

"Your Majesty is too kind," the elf murmured as she knelt beside her. As Lya reached for another shard of glass, she felt a stabbing pain in her arm. Her eyes flew to the elf who was calmly replacing a tiny dagger into a small belt pouch at her waist. She tried to call out, but lethargy was spreading over her, robbing her limbs of strength and taking away her ability to speak. The elf reached over to guide her to the floor, and as the world faded around her, she heard the elf say, "Much too kind."


	33. Chapter 32

Just a quick check to make sure the pacing still seems fine to you. Trying to strike the right balance between emotions is a little tricky in this section. Please let me know what you think works and doesnt work.

* * *

**Chapter 32**

Pale, early winter light was streaming through the windows when Alistair awoke. He stretched slightly and rolled over to snuggle with Lya for a little bit before he had to get up. When his arms encountered only an expanse of sheets, however, he opened his eyes and looked around. Lya wasn't there, and the sheets and blankets were cool. She had been up for awhile then. He threw back the covers and got up, wondering where she had gone. She wasn't a morning person and so he was usually up before her.

He threw on a set of clothes, yawning, and tugged his boots on. He would check in their study on his way down to the baths. Whenever she woke up early, that was inevitably where she ended up. There or with the twins. As he left his rooms, he poked his head into their room and was immediately greeted by two voices crying "Daddy!" He laughed and swept his children up in his arms, giving each a kiss before setting them back down. Liadan, who had been trying to get them dressed before he came in, stood up as he entered.

"Sorry," he apologized. "But have you seen Lya?"

"No, your Majesty," the petite elf replied. "She usually comes in a bit after I do, but she hasn't stopped in yet this morning. I am expecting her shortly, though, since she usually comes in around this time." She paused for a moment, looking uncertain. "Should I not be getting the children up?"

"No, no, I was just wondering that's all. Thank you." The study, then. He gave the twins another kiss and left the room. He opened the door to the study and was halfway through a greeting before he realized the room was empty. A frown pulled his brows together as he looked around the room. This was…odd. Turning to leave, he stopped abruptly as something caught his gaze out of the corner of his eye, and he moved towards the desk.

The bright morning sun caused the little slivers of glass on the floor to glitter, which is what had caught his attention. He crouched down to look closer. Someone had dropped something and had cleaned up, but hadn't gotten everything. Since it hadn't been there yesterday that meant someone had been in here. A tingle of something went through him and he rubbed the back of his neck, not surprised to find the hair standing on end. The frown on his face deepened and he turned, searching for anything else that seemed out of place. His heart gave a little lurch and a sick feeling started to crawl through his gut when he spied Lya's shoes under the desk.

They were the old, comfortable ones she wore when they were going to be alone, and she had the habit of kicking them off so she could pull her feet up on the chair. He reached under and pulled them out, before dropping them to the floor and standing in a swift motion. This was wrong. A bit of broken glass and a pair of shoes were _nothing_; there could be a dozen explanations. But he had learned long ago to trust his feelings and right now everything in him was screaming out a warning.

Alistair started to stride from the room, but stopped short just before the door. He needed to be calm, to ignore the panic ripping through his mind and focus. A deep breath, a quick run through of a templar exercise, and he at least looked in control.

He walked down the hall and stopped before the two guards that always stood outside their rooms. "Have you seen the queen this morning?" he asked them.

"No, your Majesty," the older guard said. "You were the only person we've seen since our shift began at dawn." Alistair felt his mouth go dry. If Lya had left their rooms before dawn, if she had left before the guards had changed….

"The men you relieved didn't say anything about seeing her leave?"

"No, sire," the guard replied cautiously. "They didn't say anything."

The panic solidified into a feeling of dread and fell like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard and jerked open the door to his rooms. Duncan's sword was propped in the corner of his bedroom, next to Starfang. Neither he nor Lya had ever felt comfortable not having a weapon nearby and so these were always kept in their rooms. He slid the harness over his shoulder and hesitated only a split second before doing the same with Lya's sword.

The guards started at his appearance as he left his rooms once more. Not even bothering to look at them, he snapped, "Stay here!" Turning, he entered his children's room. Liadan's eyes opened wide as he entered, armed and grim-faced. "Your Majesty!" she gasped, but he ignored her for the moment. Elwyn was the closest to him, and he picked her up, holding her close.

"Pick up Duncan and come with me," he said tersely. She stared at him for a minute and then scrambled the gather Duncan in her arms. Zevran's rooms weren't far, but Alistair didn't draw a deep breath until they got there. He threw open the door and gestured for Liadan to enter, which she did with alacrity. Alistair followed, pulling the door shut firmly behind him.

"Alistair. To what do I owe-" Zevran stopped mid-sentence as he took in the scene before him. The look on Alistair's face made his eyes widen. "What's happened?"

"She's missing." Alistair's voice was low and controlled, but there was no disguising both the fury and terror in it. There was no doubt as to who "she" was. "I want people here _now_. I am _not_ leaving my children here until I know for damned sure that they'll be safe."

Zevran slid from the bed and into the clothes on the floor beside in nearly a single fluid motion. "Dae!"

Daevanya was already doing the same on her side of the bed. "On it!" she said sharply as she bolted out the door. Zevran moved quickly the armor stand in the corner of the room and began buckling his leathers on. He watched Alistair as he did, trying to gauge his friend's state.

Alistair was standing just as he was when he entered the room. He was very still, holding his daughter cradled against his chest, her dark head tucked below his chin. At first glance, he appeared calm, but Zevran knew him better than that. His breathing was too rapid, his chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths. And his eyes were a little too wide, a little too wild.

Zevran was buckling his swords on when Daevanya returned, Shayelyn and Kaden on her heels. Closing the door, she turned to Zevran. "The others in the palace are coming, and I took the liberty of sending someone for Wynne and Eamon." Zevran nodded.

"Good. Once others are here, I would prefer to move to your rooms, Alistair." The king nodded once, sharply. Shaye approached him cautiously and held out her arms to take Elwyn from him.

"Let me take her, Alistair." He fixed his eyes on hers sharply and tightened his hold on his daughter slightly. Shaye's eyes softened with concern. "Please, Alistair. I won't hurt her, you know that. She and Duncan will be safe with us, I promise," she said gently.

Slowly, reluctantly, Alistair let Shaye gather Elwyn into her arms. He knew her, trusted her implicitly; she would never hurt his children. But even so, he couldn't stop the tingle of uncertainty as she removed his daughter from his arms. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from snatching Elwyn back from her.

There was a brisk knock at the door, and Zevran eased it open to see Wynne and Eamon looking harried and confused. He opened the door to usher them in. As they entered, both sought out Alistair and Wynne was the first to speak.

"Alistair, what in the Maker's name is going on?"

He took a deep breath to steady himself and met her clear blue eyes. After throwing a hesitant glance at his children, he said quietly. "Lya's missing."

"Missing?" Eamon looked slightly askance. "That's absurd."

"Are you sure?" Wynne asked.

"No, actually, I'm not sure, and we need to find out. But…." The thought he had in the study returned. "Something is _wrong_, Wynne. And I'm not taking any chances until I find out what it is." He quickly ran through what had happened since he woke up, and then rubbed his eyes as he tried to think. "We're going back to our rooms. I'll feel safer with the twins there. And when we get there, I want the palace sealed until she's found. Also, the Royal Guard is being relieved of duty."

"Alistair," Eamon said slowly, "do you realize what you're saying? Sealing the palace will be a massive undertaking. And relieving the Guard will leave you unprotected."

"I didn't notice them doing a terribly good job of that this morning, Eamon. My wife is apparently missing, and the people that are supposed to keep that from happening are either incompetent or lying to me."

"And so you will leave yourself, and your children, unguarded? And who will seal the palace?"

"They will _not_ be left unguarded." He looked over at Zevran. "You will do _whatever_ is necessary to protect them."

Zevran's brows lifted slightly. Very, very rarely did Alistair issue commands to him, and never like this. He crossed his arms and saluted. "I swear it, your Majesty."

Alistair nodded and turned back to Eamon. "And as far as sealing the palace and having protection in place goes, I do believe that's why I have an army."

Eamon gaped at him. "You're going to call the army into the city like this? I must protest. Such an action-"

"Eamon," Alistair said through clenched teeth, cutting him off. He stopped and forced himself to relax, to keep hold of the focus that was keeping him together. "This is not a discussion; it is not open to debate. I am not asking your permission. I am telling you what I am going to order so that _you_ can do _your_ job. Am I understood?"

For a moment, Eamon just looked at Alistair, and then he drew himself up and bowed to Alistair more deeply and more formally than he ever had before. "Yes, your Majesty. I await your command."

"Good." Alistair looked over to Zevran and Kade. "When we get to my rooms, I want the guards relieved of their weapons and watched until they can be put somewhere. Then I need someone to get Kylon. He is the sole member of the Guard that I want to remain."

"I'll get him, your Majesty," Daevanya volunteered. "I will also let the others know that they're to try and keep people inside the palace."

"Thank you." With a deep breath and final look at the others, he opened the door, fervently hoping he was overreacting.


	34. Chapter 33

I apologize for the delay. Work and stuff has been kicking my ass. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 33**

They left Zevran's rooms almost in a battle formation. The similarities between how they often traveled during the Blight and how they walked down the hallway now did not escape any of them. Zevran led, followed closely by Alistair. Shaye and Liadan followed with the children, flanked by Daevanya and Eamon, who had borrowed a sword from Zevran. Wynne followed close behind them and Kade brought up the rear.

As the approached the royal apartments, the two guards shifted uncomfortably. Zevran lengthened his stride to get to them before the rest of the party. "Your weapons," he demanded, holding out his hands. They looked past the elf to Alistair who was drawing up behind Zevran.

"Do it," he ordered.

"But, your Majesty…"

"Do it. Now."

"Uh, yes, your Majesty." The two guards haltingly unbuckled their sword belts and handed the sheathed weapons to Zevran. They stood awkwardly, unsure of how to react to the situation. Zevran motioned for them to move off to the side, finally prompting them with a nudge from one of their swords. Moving forward, Alistair opened the door and ushered the others inside. Kade hung back at the door.

"I will watch them until more people arrive."

Alistair just nodded and gestured for Zevran to follow him into the rooms. Kade took up a stance before the door, hands resting lightly on the pommels of his swords. Once everyone was inside, Alistair turned to find every face in the room trained on him, waiting expectantly. He took a deep breath to collect himself.

"Liadan, please take the children into the bedroom. They're staying here. If you need anything from their room, have one of Zevran's people get it once they arrive."  
"Yes, your Majesty." She hurried into the bedroom with Duncan, Shaye following so she could set Elwyn down.

The door opened behind them and two more of Zevran's people entered. Zevran pulled them off to the side, speaking quickly and quietly. They listened intently, asked a few questions and gave Zevran a brief salute before turning to leave. Pausing before the door, they also gave Alistair a brief salute, which surprised him. Zevran had always made it clear that his people were _his_, a condition required to ensure he always had full control and to keep Lya and Alistair above suspicion. To know they apparently cared in more than a professional manner, even if only slightly, was heartening. He nodded in reply and they sprinted out the door.

"They will begin searching the palace, your Majesty. If she is still here, we should know within half an hour. I've also given orders to seal the palace as best we can until reinforcements arrive. No one is suspicious of anything yet, and we should keep it that way."

"Right. I need to draw up an order for my generals."

"If I may, your Majesty?"

Pausing on his way to the desk, Alistair looked over at Eamon.

"I would suggest not mobilizing the entire army. Request only the units you need to guard the palace. If you must, put more on standby. As it is, we won't be able to keep this quiet long and a full mobilization will cause people to panic."

Running a hand through his hair, Alistair had to admit privately that Eamon was right. Calling up the whole army immediately would make it more difficult to find answers.

"Very well. I'll draw up the order just for several units for now, and place the same number again on standby. When Kylon gets here, he will have to direct where people should be stationed." He paused. "I trust him, I really do. But I can't… I can't relieve the Guard and keep him in charge. He will have to advise whichever captain or general is in command."

He moved to the desk and wrote the order hastily, signed it and then tugged off the signet ring that doubled as a royal seal, and pressed it into the wax. He folded it again and sealed the outside. Glancing up at his friends, he wondered who he could send the order with.

Eamon stepped forward and extended a hand. "I will take it, your Majesty. Would you agree that the barracks closest to the palace are the best place to get troops right now?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Eamon tucked the document inside his vest, bowed and left. Once he was gone, Alistair looked around again. Daevanya hadn't yet arrived with Kylon, nor had any others arrived yet. It was just Zevran and Wynne with him.

He removed the swords from his back, laid them across the desk and moved towards a large chest along the wall. Flipping the latches, he started removing cloth wrapped bundles.

"Alistair, what…?" Wynne started to ask.

"Lya's idea," he said, needing to talk. "She never liked being without armor or weapons close by. Said that if she hadn't had armor in her room at Highever, she never would have made it out alive. So after we moved in, she had these brought in."

The first bundles held the silverite scale Lya favored when not in plate. He set them down carefully and reached back into the chest, withdrawing his own splintmail set. He continued talking as he worked to untie the bundles and remove the armor.

"She said if anything ever went wrong, it would be good to have some protection close at hand. For all the good it's done."

Wynne's hand closed on his shoulder in a reassuring grip. "We don't know for certain that something is wrong, Alistair."

"Don't we?" He looked up at her. "She wouldn't just leave like this, Wynne, not without telling anyone. I want to believe she's all right, I really do. But…I can't."

Finally getting all of the armor out, he pulled his boots off and began strapping the armor on. He needed it; needed to feel the reassuring weight of arms and armor. It was familiar, comfortable and was another buffer against the panic that wasn't going away.

He was re-arming himself with his sword when Shaye came out of the bedroom. "The twins are settled. Liadan is going to stay with them in there, and they'll probably be calmer without a whole lot of people fussing around them."

"Thank you."

Shaye went to pull the door shut, but was blocked as Golanth followed her out. The mabari looked around the room and then looked again at its agitated occupants. He gave an odd whine and looked up at Alistair.

_Where is she?_

Alistair wasn't on the receiving end of Golanth's "talks" very often and still found it incredibly weird to see how good mabari were at understanding and relaying information.

"She's…" He struggled for a minute trying to figure out how to explain what was happening. "She's missing."

_Then find her._

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. "We're trying, but we don't know…" Tilting his head to the side, he looked at Lya's dog with a dawning recognition. "You can track her," he said slowly. "You could follow her trail and find where she went."

_Yes._

"Let's go."

"Alistair!" Wynne's called halted him, and he swung around to face her. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to find my wife."

She looked at the others, at a loss for what to say. Shaye spoke up. "You would leave your children unprotected?"

That stopped him. "They're…they're not unprotected. You and Wynne are here, as is Zevran. Kade is just outside. I doubt anyone could get to them."

"And what about you? Are you just going to wander about with no protection and risk your life so foolishly?"

His teeth ground together in frustration. He had to do _something_. "I can take care of myself."

"Like Lya did?" Zevran asked quietly. He met Alistair's shocked gaze openly. "We know nothing, Alistair. And until we do, none of us, but most especially Lya, can risk losing you simply because you are frustrated. You no longer have that luxury."

Alistair wanted to throw Zevran's words back at him, to tell him he did have that luxury, that he could do something more than just sit around waiting for others do their jobs. But he couldn't. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny the truth of their words and it filled him with a kind of helpless rage.

The tenuous control he had snapped and he slammed his fist into the door with a snarled curse. Ignoring the pain that exploded in his hand, he stalked across the floor in angry strides.

"Alistair…"

"Don't! Wynne, just…don't." After several moments, Shaye stepped forward hesitantly and laid a hand on Alistair's arm as he walked by. Her healing magic flowed into him, alleviating the growing agony in his hand.

"You might need to use it later," she said quietly, and he stood still to allow her to finish. He grunted his thanks and flexed his hand. It still ached a bit, which means he had probably broken bones. Stupid.

"You're right about the dog, though," Zevran said. "He might be very useful. I am embarrassed I did not think of it myself. As soon as other arrive, I will go with him. We will move faster alone."

"Fine."

"I know you want to come, Alistair, but-"

"I said fine!"

Some part of Alistair was aware that they were doing what they needed to. That in order to best help Lya, they had to keep everything, including him, under control. And he was thankful for it. But the bigger part of him seethed, angry that he was being kept from doing anything, even if there was nothing he could do. He resented them, resented their calm and collected control, resented how easily they made it seem.

Dropping into the chair before the desk, he propped his elbows on the desk and rested his forehead in his hands. How long had it been since he woke up to this nightmare, one that he was certain was going to get a lot worse? Twenty minutes? Thirty? The slim control the quick mental exercises had given him was long gone and there would be so much more he had to do.

Alistair took a deep breath, closed his eyes and began the deeper meditative exercises that he needed. One by one, he recognized and acknowledged all of the emotions in him. And, one by one, he pushed them away to a quiet part of his mind, locked them behind mental barricades that would hold them until he had the time to deal with them.

The welcome stillness and clarity came, if more slowly than he would have liked. But they were there and he could focus. And when the door opened to allow Daevanya and Kylon entrance, he was ready.


	35. Chapter 34

Longer chapter here, but no really good place to split it. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 34**

Kylon dropped to one knee as Alistair stood. "You Majesty. I have failed in my duty to you and I beg your forgiveness. I stand ready to face the consequences."

Alistair sighed. "Stand up, Captain. We don't have time for this."

Kylon looked up, uncertain. Alistair gestured impatiently for him to rise, which he did. "Your Majesty, I know how this must look…"

"Captain, we really don't have time for this. Listen carefully. I have mobilized several units of my army. They will be here to secure the palace and relieve the Royal Guard of duty. I will need you to direct them as to the best way to do that. I would also prefer it if you explained to the Guard what is happening. I don't think I'm the best person to do that right now."

For a moment, Kylon just looked at him. "Are you sure, your Majesty? If some of my men did have anything to do with the queen's disappearance, allowing me to have a role won't look very good."

"If?" Alistair grimaced. "Regardless, Kylon, I trust you. It may be misplaced at this point, but there it is. Not so long ago, you helped Lya and me by trusting us. Consider this repayment. I need you right now, so don't fail me again.

"Now, when the troops arrive, where do we start?"

They spent the next half hour detailing how best to set up the new protection for the palace, and deciding what to do with the guards on duty. It was finally decided that they would be confined in their barracks. Those guards who lived outside of the barracks would be quietly rounded up and brought back for interrogation.

Alistair looked to Zevran when the subject of questioning came up. "You _will_ find me the answers I need," he said.

Zevran nodded. "You do realize, Alistair, what you are asking me to do?"

"I know."

"Very well, then. Do you wish to question any of them yourself?"

Alistair smiled slightly. "I don't think that would be a very good idea. I have a powerful need to hurt someone, and if I started I don't think I would be able to stop."

Kylon had grown pale during the exchange. "Your Majesty, please!" he protested. "These men are loyal! Some have been in service to the crown for years, under both your father and brother. Don't do this!"

Alistair gave Kylon a hard look. "What would you have me do? Clearly, not all of them are loyal and we need to know who they are. Unless you think they're going to be struck by a sudden pang of conscience and spill their guts."

The captain shifted, uncomfortable with both the thought of his men being tortured and arguing with his king about it. "And I'm telling you they're loyal, your Majesty," he said earnestly. "Pardon my insolence, but I know these men. I know their families. They would gladly die before letting any harm come to you and your family." Alistair's face tightened and Kylon hurried on. "If they have done what it looks like, those responsible were either never loyal from the start or they've been paid _a lot_ of money. If any of those responsible are still here, they won't talk and you'll only be hurting innocent men and women. Let _me_ talk to them, question them. They trust me. If you do this, you'll lose that loyalty."

"You know," Zevran said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "that has potential: the brave commander protecting his men from the cruelties of a fiendish assassin. He can use me as a threat if they are not forthcoming with information. The anticipation of something terrible is often times more potent than the actual act.

He grinned. "And if not, then the things learned in my childhood can be put to good use, yes? He can also let it 'slip' that my more extreme measures are my own. That would protect your image in their eyes, and we would have multiple ways of breaking them and getting information."

"Do you think that will work?"

"For some of them, yes. Some men will break at the very mention of being racked, while others will never break under the worst of tortures. We seek information, not punishment. And the good captain is right that most of his men are innocent. But they may know things without being aware that they do. That is what we need to find."

"All right. Do what you think best."

"We should wait until they have all been secured and keep them from talking to one another. They will have to be watched closely in the barracks, and we can't do that until your troops arrive. I think for now, I will take Golanth and see what we can find. I will return as soon as possible."

The mabari, who had been pacing impatiently, immediately moved to the door. As soon as Zevran opened it, he bounded out, the elf close on his heels. Alistair watched them go, praying they would find something and that he hadn't waited too long.

* * *

Daevanya returned with a preliminary report just as the soldiers began to arrive. "She is not in the palace, your Majesty, unless she is somehow in a hidden passage or room of which we are unaware. At this point, we need to expand our search outside of the palace and throughout the city." Zevran agreed and left with Golanth, not wanting to waste any more time.

"We also found several bodies, your Majesty. No, not the queen," she hastened to assure him at his shocked look. "Four servants and one guard, to be exact. The servants were killed cleanly, broken necks or garroted. It would have been relatively quiet, and quick, with no mess to clean up. The guard appears to have been poisoned, at least partly. A single cut to the back of his neck. We think it was something to incapacitate him and then he was suffocated. Their bodies were all found hidden in little used storage rooms."

Alistair rubbed his face. "Why bother killing servants?"

"Because they were in the way, most likely; in the wrong place at the wrong time. The other possibility is that they were loose ends to be tied up." She shrugged a slim shoulder. "We simply don't know yet.

"We left the bodies where they are for now, and they are being watched to make sure they are not discovered. There don't appear to be any clues, but we're taking no chances. We also don't want to alarm too many people, yet. As soon as the bodies are revealed, the staff is likely to panic."

He closed his eyes to think. "All right." Looking up at Eamon and General Bredon who had arrived while Daevanya gave her report, he gestured to Kylon. "We've discussed how we're going to proceed. Kylon can advise you on how to direct your men. I don't want anyone leaving. The guards are going to be held in the barracks for now. If it's needed, some can always be moved to Fort Drakon later."

"Yes, your Majesty. What about the servants? Are they to be held anywhere as well?"

"Do we even have anywhere to keep them?"

"Not really, your Majesty. The palace was never designed to hold people like this. I would recommend letting the servants continue to work as normal. We can watch them and question them as needed."

Alistair nodded. "Then you have your orders, General."

"Yes, your Majesty." Bredon saluted and left.

Alistair sat back in his chair and looked at his friends. "Now what?"

"Now we wait, your Majesty," Daevanya said. "We're looking for information, but it will take time. When Zevran returns, he can fill us in on anything he found and then begin questioning people. You've done what you can for now. Let us do our jobs. You will know as soon as we find anything."

"Alistair?"

"Yes, Wynne?"

"You may want to write a letter to Fergus. When word spreads, it will travel quickly and it would be best if he heard it from you."

Maker's breath, he hadn't even thought about that. The thought of telling Fergus left him feeling sick. "Thank you, Wynne. I'll do that sometime today. I'd rather wait to know more first."

* * *

Zevran returned nearly two hours after he left, and his expression was grim. Golanth had led him out of the palace and through the city to the docks. The trail had led them to a pier that had held a fast merchant ship from Antiva. Zevran snorted at that. "Merchant," he muttered. "If that ship was a merchant I'll eat the dog's dinner."

Workers on the docks couldn't tell them much about the ship. The crew kept to themselves and hadn't caused any problems at the inns and taverns. They did say that the ship seemed to carry more guards than usual for a merchant vessel. It had left on the tide just after dawn and none of the crew had been left behind.

"We will do what we can, Alistair," Zevran said, "but they have the advantage. Not only do they have a head start, but we do not know where they are headed at the moment. If speed is their only concern, they may take a direct route to their destination. If they seek to throw us off the trail, they may choose a longer, more convoluted route. And it is possible they might meet with another ship at sea and transfer her. If that happens, we may have no way to track her at all. You should dispatch some of your ships to look, but I honestly don't expect they will be able to catch up to or find her ship.

"There is also the problem that she is being taken somewhere where it will be exceedingly difficult to track her. Outside of Ferelden we have very few contacts, though there are some I could still call upon in Antiva. And if Leliana were here, she might be able to help in Orlais, but…" He spread his hands. "That is not an option."

As slim a chance as it was, Alistair had hoped Lya was still in the city. At least then it would have been possible to rescue her. Zevran's information had killed that thought. "Do we even know if she's still alive?" he asked quietly.

Kade suddenly spoke up. "She's not dead." Everyone turned to look at him, but Kade's attention was fixed on Zevran. "Correct?" The elf hesitated for just a moment before nodding his agreement.

"How can you possibly know that?" Alistair asked.

"Because if they had wanted her dead, your Majesty, you would have woken up next to her corpse. They have proven that they can infiltrate the palace and move about with impunity, and it probably would have been easier to simply kill one or both of you. There is no reason to waste the time and effort needed to kidnap her and spirit her away if all they sought was her death. Whoever it was needs her alive for something. And as long as she remains useful to them, for whatever reason, we have the chance to find her.

"There could be several reasons why she was taken, but I suspect there are very few with the resources to pull this off. I would say you know better than anyone else here who probably took her and where they're going." He looked at Alistair calmly, and Alistair spoke what they all knew.

"The Wardens. Weisshaupt."

"Could the Wardens in Amaranthine be involved?"

"I don't know, Zev. We haven't heard a word from Nathaniel about something like this and he would have let us know if he suspected anything. Given what we know, I would guess this is all Osric."

"But why would they kidnap her, Alistair?" Wynne frowned. "I know you've told me you parted on bad terms with him, but what could he gain?"

Alistair and Zevran exchanged a look. They knew why Osric wanted Lya. "It's…complicated, Wynne."

Daevanya tilted her head thoughtfully. "Should we send people to Weisshaupt, then? We could perhaps intercept them on the road, or rescue her from the fortress if they make it that far."

"Without knowing where they're going, it would be impossible to catch them on the road." Alistair shook his head and laughed bitterly. He thought of all the threats he had thrown at Osric and realized how utterly absurd they must have seemed to the man. The only one that still had any power would probably just ensure Lya's death. "As for rescuing her from Weisshaupt, if that's indeed where they're going, you'll never get in."

"There's always a way in, your Majesty."

"Then you'll never get out." His lip curled in contempt. "Believe me, I know. There are hundreds of Wardens there. You'd never make it." Guilt wound through him as he wondered how much he was personally responsible for what was happening now. "We still need to confirm it, though, and find out if there is still any threat here. So…." He looked at Zevran and Kylon. "Go."

"Of course, Alistair."

"Yes, your Majesty."

* * *

The rest of day passed in agonizing slowness for Alistair. They converted the sitting room into a meeting area, allowing them to focus on the problem at hand: gathering information. Until they could confirm for certain that Lya had been taken by Grey Wardens, they couldn't discount any theory or possibility. They needed to know more.

Zevran had chosen his people for a reason and within hours information was trickling in, allowing them to piece together what had happened. No one had seen what happened to Lya in the palace, but in the streets there was always someone watching. A washerwoman reported seeing a refuse cart being wheeled away from the palace just before dawn. A couple of bakers were discovered to have seen the same thing, noting it only because it seemed a bit early for someone to be transporting things through dark city streets. There was only slightly more information to be found at the docks, mostly just detailing how long the ship had been there.

In the palace itself, three guards and four servants had turned up missing after a head count was done. Two of the guards had been the ones on watch outside the royal apartments when Lya disappeared, and the third had been partnered with the dead guard. The missing servants were harder to identify, particularly because they hadn't stood out among their peers as well. They had been quiet and efficient in their work and it had taken far longer for their absence to be noted.

Zevran and Kylon had begun questioning, and so far had come up with nothing. They reported that the guards seemed shocked and angry at what had happened, and most were giving up any and all information that they thought would help. Alistair was grateful for that, and that Zevran hadn't found the need to resort to more drastic actions yet. For all his talk, he was uncomfortable with torturing his own men. During a break, Zevran told him that letting the guards talk and hunt for traitors in their midst themselves might be useful and he agreed.

He also wrote the letter to Fergus, the words on the paper sounding hollow and insincere even to him.

As evening fell, Shaye emerged from the bedroom where she had gone to keep watch over the twins with Liadan. Her eyes were dark with worry as she approached him. "Alistair," she said quietly, "the children are asking about Lya. They want her and we can't calm them anymore." She gestured helplessly. "You need to tell them something."

Alistair got to his feet heavily, dreading what was to come. He let himself into his bedroom and motioned for Liadan to leave. She left quietly, pausing only to dip a brief curtsey. The twins were sitting on the floor, Golanth lying next to them. The mabari had settled into a fierce guard over them when he returned, and Alistair wondered if the dog felt as guilty as he did.

His children looked up as he entered and their little faces were solemn and tear-streaked. Duncan ran over as Alistair approached and threw himself around his father's legs. Alistair gently unwrapped him and lifted the boy into his arms. He carried Duncan over to Elwyn where he lifted her as well and brought them both to the bed. He settled onto it, tucking one child under each arm as he thought of what to tell them.

The children nestled against his sides, their discontent being soothed by their father's strong, loving arms. They sat like that for a little while before Elwyn finally broke the silence. "I want Mummy!" she said in a pleading tone and Duncan whimpered in agreement. Alistair's heart twisted in his chest and he blinked away the moisture that clouded his vision.

"Daddy has something very important that he needs to tell you, so I need you to pay very careful attention, all right?" The twins nodded and Alistair moved them until they were both settled in his lap facing him. The green of Duncan's eyes almost undid him and he prayed silently to get through this. Maker give him strength. He reached out to cup each of their faces in his hands.

"You know how Mummy and Daddy sometimes have to go away and take care of important things?" They nodded. "Well, Mummy had to go take care of some things. She had to leave quickly and that's why she didn't get to say goodbye. But she wanted me to tell you she loves you and she'll be back as soon as she can." He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. "She loves you," he said again huskily.

The twins seemed satisfied by his answer, if not pleased, and settled down. He pulled them again his chest, taking what comfort he could in holding them, and wondered how long he would be able to keep lying to them.


	36. Chapter 35

Thank you for the positive feedback, everyone. I appreciate it! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 35**

Lya came back to consciousness slowly. Her head felt heavy and her whole body ached. She felt herself rocking and could smell salt. As she regained her faculties, she could felt the rope binding her hands behind her back and her feet together, as well as the cloth gag tied across her mouth. So it wasn't a dream. Damn.

She heard someone moving towards her and her eyes snapped open. The man who had been leaning over her took a quick step back with a muffled oath. Her eyes glared up at him, conveying all the anger she could muster. And then she felt that faint pulse from him, the taint streaming through his blood as it did hers. So Osric had finally made his move.

The Warden stepped back to her side and spread his hands in an appeasing gesture. "Please, your Majesty, I have no desire to make this trip anymore unpleasant than it has to be. I will remove your gag if you promise not to scream. It wouldn't do you any good and I confess a dislike to hearing women scream." Lya continued to glare at him, but jerked her head in assent. He reached over and gently untied the gag. She worked her jaws and ran her tongue over her dry lips, trying to get moisture back into them.

Lya struggled into a sitting position, and surprisingly, the man helped her. She looked around the small cabin. It was neat and well-appointed, with late afternoon light streaming through the porthole. It seemed the First Warden spared no expense for this little adventure. She turned her attention to her captor. He was an average man. Average height, average build, average features; completely unremarkable save for the dark skin that marked him as Rivaini. He wore nondescript leather armor and carried a sword and dagger. He watched her take stock of him and finally asked, "So, do I pass inspection?"

"Sadly, yes," she said calmly. She could feel the berserker rage in her, twisting and fighting to get out and she grimly forced it back down. In battle it was an asset, but here could prove to be her undoing. "You do realize you're going to die, don't you?"

The man chuckled. "Come now, your Majesty, you're hardly in a position to be making threats. We're both reasonable people. Why don't we simply be civil about this? We are going to be traveling together for awhile and I see no reason we can't get along."

"Don't you?" she asked quietly. She let a sweet smile curve her lips, the same one she reserved for stubborn banns who wore out her patience. "I apologize if you thought I was threatening you. That was not my intention at all. I was merely informing you of what was going to happen. For your kindness, I thought it was the least I could do."

The man sighed. "Your Majesty, please, I will ask one more time. Can we not be civil? There is no reason for us to be at odds while we are together. Things will be far more pleasant if you cooperate."

"Will they? Shall we sit and have tea then, perhaps discuss the weather? Or maybe we could discuss current fashion. I always find that a fascinating subject." Her eyes narrowed. "You have abducted me from my home and family. I have no idea if my husband and children even live or if I will ever see them again. I am being taken somewhere, presumably to be held as a hostage, interrogated or both. And you expect me to be _civil_?" she asked scornfully.

"I expect you to be everything I've been told about you," the man said, a thread of irritation coloring his voice. Then he sighed. "I understand you have every reason to be angry at your current situation, but I am not the one to discuss it with. My job is simply to make sure you arrive at your destination safely. I see no need for me to be cruel in the process. As for your family, unless others were acting on different orders that I do not know about, they are unharmed. As for what will happen to you, I cannot say. The decision will not be mine."

Lya said nothing, her lips pressed together in a firm line. Loath as she was to admit it, he was right. She gained nothing by antagonizing this man. She recalled the Wardens who had come with Alistair when he returned from Weisshaupt. He had gained their trust by being personable and approachable. While she didn't have his effortless charm that so often won people over, being far more comfortable as a commander and leader, she could do it. She wished now that she had had the patience to learn Alistair's templar training. It would be very useful to focus and call upon that stillness of mind.

"I apologize, Warden," she finally said. "Let's just say that I'm out of sorts at the moment. You have been kinder than I could expect for our situation and I thank you for that." She dipped her head towards him.

"Thank you, your Majesty. I confess I do not know if I could be as gracious in your position. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alvarro."

"And my name is Lya, though you know that of course. If you truly want to put me at ease, use it. For some reason, I find it grates on my nerves when people refuse to refer to me by anything other than a title."

He smiled broadly at her. "Very well, Lya. I am glad we could come to an understanding. Now let me go over a few rules." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Believe me when I say these rules are designed for your protection. First, do not attempt to escape. We are at sea and there is no where you can go. The crew will not help you, so attempting to subvert them will only lead to me having to confine you. Secondly, please do not attack myself or the crew. Not that you will be allowed a weapon, but you are nothing if not resourceful. We have heard stories of your prowess, and if your husband's abilities were anything to go by, you are one of the most skilled blades in all of Thedas. Any fight would be decidedly one-sided, but I doubt you would be able to kill all of us. I might not be able to guarantee your safety in that situation." He allowed himself a small smile. "It is also decidedly difficult to sail a ship all by yourself. Thirdly, I ask you not to harm yourself in any way. That would also lead to confining you."

Her jaw dropped open, unable to hide her shock. "Why in Andraste's name would I harm myself?"

"I say it merely as a precaution, Lya. Some people…make rash decisions in a position such as yours. I do not think you are the type of person to do so, but I wanted to be clear. I think those are all the rules we need to go over for now. There will be a few more once we dock, but we can discuss them then. Do I have your word that you will follow them?"

Lya did not hesitate to answer. "Yes." She tried to be an honest person, but when the lives of those she loved were on the line, she had no compunction about using whatever advantage she could. She would follow his rules as long as it benefitted her.

Alvarro looked at her for a long moment before carefully unsheathing his dagger and cutting her bindings. "I'll accept that. For now, you might want to get changed into something more comfortable." He moved back to the desk he had been leaning on to pick up a backpack on the floor next to it and handed it to her.

She took the pack, frowning, and opened it. Inside were an assortment of tunics and trousers. As she examined them, she realized something else. "These are all mine," she said slowly, looking back up at Alvarro.

"Yes," he said. "I arranged to have some of your things brought with you in order to make you more comfortable." Lya looked at the clothes in disbelief. To know these people had been close enough to kill her family was horrific enough, but the thought of them going through her things, picking and choosing pieces of her life to take, made her feel sick. She closed her eyes against the nausea, willing it away. He was trying to upset her, throw her off-balance.

"Thank you," she said, cursing the raggedness of her voice, the unsteadiness she couldn't mask. He watched her reaction and nodded, and then left the small cabin so she could get changed in privacy. She did so hurriedly, noting that her stab wound had been smeared with a poultice and carefully bound. It was nearly healed by now, and was unlikely to even leave a scar. It gave her hope that Alvarro had been telling the truth. No need to keep your prisoner healthy if you intended to kill them.

After stowing her dress in the pack, she checked the cabin. He had been careful. There was nothing she could use as a weapon, not an effective one at any rate. Attacking him while still on the ship would be a bad idea, but she hated being in a hostile situation with nothing to defend herself. She would bide her time, and look for an opportunity if one ever came.

* * *

They remained aboard the ship for nine days. During the entire trip, Alvarro was nothing but respectful and courteous. He escorted her on deck for fresh air when the weather permitted. He brought her meals, made sure her clothes were clean and proved to be a surprisingly delightful conversationalist. Lya fought the urge to be lulled into complacency by it. She carefully avoided any topic of conversation that could possibly imply any weakness, firmly keeping in front of her the fact that he would use it against her.

She was surprised at his interest in her struggles against both the Blight and in Amaranthine. She found herself recounting the events and her impressions of things and she finally asked why he wanted to know so much from her directly when plenty had been written on the subject.

He looked thoughtful. "I suppose I am curious because you have had more experience with darkspawn than any other Warden. Whatever the reasons we are here now, I am still a Grey Warden. I am truly interested in defeating the darkspawn and in hearing the stories of a Warden who has faced them from the source." Lya had mulled that over, filing the information away for later. It might not prove useful, but one never knew.

They eventually docked in an unknown town and Alvarro waited until nightfall before gathering their things and escorting her off the ship. As they crossed the deck under a moonless night, Lya felt the faint pull of the taint and stiffened. The gentle pressure of Alvarro's hand on her back kept her moving down the gangplank. Waiting at the end of the pier for them were five more Grey Wardens and two horses. Alvarro tied their belongings to his horse while the other Wardens watched her swing up into the saddle of her mount.

Lya studied them as they rode. It was a stern group, and they were all clearly competent. They had finely crafted weapons and armor and Lya knew they weren't for show. They were there to make sure she got to her destination. The group included a mage and an archer, so if she tried taking off, they would be able to take her down without much effort. The warriors and rogues wouldn't be a problem if she could get her hands on some armor and a weapon. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to relax. There was nothing she could do right now.

The Wardens did not stay in town. Instead the small party rode through and beyond it, traveling for a handful of hours before Alvarro pulled up. He led the group off the road to a small, well-sheltered clearing. The rest of the Wardens immediately began to make camp.

Alvarro approached her and held out a hand, which she accepted to dismount. He gestured towards the Wardens who were busy setting up. "They will take care of getting everything ready. But I wanted to go over those few other rules I mentioned on the ship. Please, do not attempt to escape. You wouldn't get far and we would have to bring you back by force. As good as we are, there is the chance that you could be grievously harmed if you resisted. Do not make us do that."

"Not to mention the First Warden would probably not be happy if you brought be to Weisshaupt crippled or dead."

"Well, there is that, but I am more concerned about your well-being. I do not want to hurt you.

"Also, you will not attempt to attract any attention or notice when we go through or stop in any town. Do not try to tell anyone that you are the queen of Ferelden or a Grey Warden or a prisoner. If you do…"

"You'll have to _confine_ me."

"Yes." For his part, Alvarro did seem truly regretful about having to threaten that. Lya struggled to remember that she was a prisoner and he her captor. He was playing a part, just as she was by pretending to be the meek captive.

"And please, please, do not attack any of us. We are going to be pushing hard, and that will be more difficult if we have to tie you across the saddle."

"I understand."

"Thank you. We will afford you as much privacy as possible, but I'm sure you understand that we cannot leave you alone. We will be respectful, I assure you."

Lya sighed. "I understand."

Alvarro nodded. "I was sure you would. We'll eat shortly and then allow you to get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."

* * *

Lya settled back in the tub and sighed. When Alvarro said she wouldn't be left alone, he had meant exactly that. That first night, she had been provided a tent. Throughout the course of the night, the three female Wardens took turns watching her. That had been repeated every night since. During the day, she rode in the middle of the party, all of the Wardens surrounding and watching her. When she needed to relieve herself, one of the women always came with her. When they washed up in small streams or lakes, or when they stopped at an inn, like they were now, there was always someone watching her bathe.

She looked over at the Warden standing against the wall, watching her with a disinterested eye. It wasn't that she was embarrassed or uncomfortable. She had gotten over that a long time ago. But now there was always someone with her, every single minute; she didn't have a single moment alone.

Reflecting on it, she realized she had never truly been alone since her last night in Highever. Ever since then there had always been someone, usually more than one, nearby. She had had space, though; times when she could go off by herself and just be alone. It didn't matter that there would be someone watching for her return, or would go after her if she did not, she always had _some_ time for herself.

There was none of that now. It was unsettling to be constantly watched, to have people always looking for some sign that she wasn't behaving or had decided to stop playing nice. It was made worse by the fact that except for Alvarro, none of them would talk to her. They would talk amongst themselves, quietly, but fell silent when she joined the group. A question would be answered in as few words as possible if not ignored entirely. It was irritating, which was the entire point, and she kept trying to maintain a calm façade.

Sighing, she pushed up and stepped out of the tub, reaching for a cloth to dry herself with. The Warden, Saraid her name was, watched clinically, a slight frown creasing her brow as she noticed the scar on Lya's hip.

Lya noted the look, and ran a thumb almost fondly over the perfectly circular two inch scar. "Archdemon," she said pleasantly. "They bite." Lya recall the sickening lurch of her stomach as the archdemon had tossed her into the air and caught her in its jaws, the pain as a tooth found its way through the joins of her armor. The wound had healed, but not even Wynne's skill had been able to remove the scar.

She ran her thumb over it once more and ignored the slight widening of Saraid's eyes to get dressed in the leather armor Alvarro had provided that first morning after they broke camp. It was a small victory to be able to surprise any of them and she would take what she could get.

Saraid escorted her down to the common room where the group would eat yet another near-silent meal. And the Warden escorted her back upstairs once it was done. Surprisingly, Alvarro followed them up and gestured for Saraid to leave so he could talk to her in private.

"Once we leave in the morning, we'll only be a few days from Weisshaupt. I know this last month has been tiring, but we'll be pushing harder than we have been."

"It's nothing I can't handle."

Alvarro grinned. "I've noticed that. Still, I wanted you to be prepared. Get as much rest as you can tonight. It's likely to be in short supply in the near-future."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

He nodded and turned to leave, but hesitated before the door. He turned back to look at her and pursed his lips in thought. "I probably shouldn't say this, but Weisshaupt can be overwhelming. Do not let it, and the First Warden, cow you. Remember who you are and draw strength from it."

Lya frowned. "Why are you telling me this? I would think Osric would disapprove of you trying to help me."

"Maybe, maybe not. The First Warden is a complicated man and he does not respect weakness. I thought you should be warned." He paused. "I also happen to like you. My duty here doesn't mean I have to hate or dislike you. I will bring you to Weisshaupt, and I would capture you again if you tried to escape, but there is nothing that says I can't give a fellow Warden a piece of advice."

"I…." She wasn't sure how to respond. "Thank you, I think. If nothing else I appreciate the thought."

"You're welcome." Alvarro tipped his head in a respectful little salute and opened the door to allow Saraid back in. Lya settled back into the narrow bed, thinking. From what Alvarro said, she could show no weakness at Weisshaupt, not unless she wanted it exploited by Osric. She settled down, willing herself to sleep, knowing she would need it in the weeks to come.

They made Weisshaupt late on the third day, the winter snows slowing them more than Alvarro would have liked. The roads were mostly clear, but the extra time meant they did not arrive until after the sun had set.

In the darkness, lights burned in windows of the fortress. Lya couldn't see the entire structure very well, but she was able to get a general sense of size. It was massive, cut into the very rock face to rise high and imposing above them.

She swallowed hard. It would be easier to tell in the daylight, but from what she could see, the word impregnable didn't seem to come close to describing Weisshaupt accurately. She thought back to what she would have done if Alistair hadn't come back. _Stupid, stupid little fool_, she thought, clenching her teeth around the hysterical laugh that was caught in her throat.

Hopes of escaping, or of having someone come to her rescue, died as they drew closer. The party dismounted in the courtyard, a handful of grooms coming to take to horses. The Wardens formed up around her as they mounted the steps, moving towards the entrance. As the massive doors swung open to admit them, Alvarro stepped up behind her.

"Welcome to Weisshaupt," he murmured, his words as much a greeting as a warning.


	37. Chapter 36

I apologize for the delay in this chapter. Work, plus a second job and just life in general kicked my ass for a bit. Add to that trying to get characters to come through exactly as I wanted and you get what we had here. Which is not the way I wanted it, nor, I'm hoping, did you. I will be as regular as I can with updates, and I hope I won't have another delay this long again.

* * *

**Chapter 36**

Alvarro escorted her to a room and led her inside. He gestured around room. "These will be your quarters. There are guards outside the door. Should you need anything, you have but to ask them. They should be able to accommodate any reasonable request you have.

"I'll make sure food and a clean change of clothes is brought for you. And that these," he held up her pack, "are laundered as well. For now, I would suggest getting some rest."

"Thank you." With a slight nod of his head, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. There was no sound of a lock being turned, but she knew one wasn't needed. That they didn't feel the need to lock her said far more than any obvious restraints.

Breathing out a deep sigh, she took stock of her new home. The room was just over four yards on each side and one wall held two windows. Small and set high, there was little chance she could escape through those. From what she could see, they were sealed with lead. She thought back to the stairs they had climbed. She would never survive a jump or fall from this height even if she managed to get the windows open.

She turned her eye to the furnishings. They were simple and utilitarian, if well made: a double bed, a small wardrobe, a bedside table, a desk and chair, a wash stand with a basin, a chamber pot and a small bookshelf fastened to one wall. Two small oil lamps, one each on the desk and bedside table provided light. The desk was empty, save for a small writing kit containing paper, ink and pens. She frowned. Was she to be allowed to write or send word to someone, or did Osric have another plan?

The wardrobe was, not surprisingly, empty. The bookshelf held four tomes; old, but well-cared for. She flipped through each one quickly. All histories.

Replacing the last book on the shelf, she shivered. Glancing around, she noticed the room did not contain a fire place. The linens on the bed were warm, but the thought of how cold the fortress would be in the heart of winter was, well, _chilling_. She grinned momentarily, thinking that Alistair would have enjoyed the pun.

The grin faded and she sank onto the bed, suddenly feeling all the strain she had been forcing herself to push through catch up. She was tired, cold and hungry. And she _missed_ Alistair. She had been away from him for longer periods, his own journey to Weisshaupt being one. But she had never been truly alone any of those times, and home had never seemed quite so far away.

The longing for home was overwhelming. She missed her family, her friends, and the ability to see them when she wanted. She missed the familiar gray stone of the palace, so similar and yet so different from the walls that surrounded her now. Maker help her, she even missed the ever-present guards and the paperwork. The thought came to her that she might not see any of those things again. She denied the thought almost as soon as it occurred. That would not happen. She _would_ go home again; it was merely a matter of when.

The thoughts of Alistair and home inevitably drew her towards something she had been avoiding. She missed her children with a ferocity that shocked her. And underlying that was fear. She had been scared before, often mind-numbingly so. But the terror she felt for Duncan and Elwyn was sharp and nearly overwhelming.

Her vision shimmered and she tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. She had to believe they were safe, that Alistair and Zevran would be able to protect them. If she didn't, she might very well go mad thinking of what could happen to them.

After allowing herself a few more moments to just absorb her new situation, she shook her head to clear it. Alvarro said Osric did not respect weakness and she couldn't afford to present any other front to him.

There was a knock at the door, and after a brief pause, it swung open to admit a Warden carrying a tray. Without a word, he deposited it on the desk. He left momentarily and returned with a bundle of cloth, which he placed on the bed. After he left, Lya examined the bundle: a heavy winter blanket, no doubt to compensate for the lack of a hearth, and two sets of warm, woolen clothes.

She rubbed her forehead as she sat down to eat. Even the food, a hearty stew with dark bread and a mug of tea, was simple, yet practical. Everything she had seen pointed to this mindset. Osric wouldn't go through the trouble of spending all the time, effort and money to have her kidnapped unless he wanted something from her.

The question was what did he want?

* * *

The First Warden didn't send for her until her fourth morning at Weisshaupt. By that time, Lya had worked her way through three of the books on the shelf and had started on the fourth. Her escort to Osric's office was comprised of three Wardens, one on each side of her and one leading the way. They were armed, and she wondered if it was supposed to be a show of force or if Osric really feared she would attempt to make an escape.

The office she was led to was fair-sized, but not overly large. The walls were lined with bookshelves and cabinets. Osric sat behind a large desk, which held only a few papers and files. There were a handful of chairs arranged before the desk, the sole furniture in the room besides a small sideboard that held a couple bottles of wine and some goblets. Behind the desk was a large window, which offered a breathtaking view.

Osric stood as she entered. In contrast to how Alistair had described him, he wore a simple gray tunic over a pair of darker gray trousers. He did not even appear to be armed. Her guards stopped at the door, not following her as she entered. They closed the door behind her and Osric waited patiently as she crossed the floor to stand before his desk. He gestured to the chairs.

"Please, be seated."

She hesitated a moment before dropping into one of the chairs stiffly. As much as she didn't want to seem like she was obeying his commands, there was no point in being childish and refusing a seat. He smiled slightly when she sat and regained his own seat.

"I apologize for the delay in meeting with you. Affairs of state have kept me more occupied than I had anticipated. I trust you understand how that can be." He paused for a moment, giving her a chance to say something. When she did not, he went on. "I hope your accommodations are suitable. I realize that they're a bit simple for a person such as you, but we don't stand on ceremony too much here at Weisshaupt."

"They're fine. It's practically luxurious compared to some of the places I've had to make do with."

He smiled again, gently, almost fatherly. "As I am well aware. Regardless, I would make sure your comfort is seen to. If you have need of anything, your guards will be able to provide it."

Leaning forward, he gathered the papers in front of him and stacked them neatly on one side of his desk. "Now, before we get down to anything else, I expect you have some questions."

"What have you done to my family?" she asked, keeping her voice as steady as she could.

"Done with them? Why, nothing. I can understand your concern, but rest assured, the last I knew they were all safe and sound."

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"Not entirely, no. But it is the truth. Believe what you will, but I have no desire to cause your family any harm. I would love to tell you more about how they are doing, but I no longer have anyone in the palace to send reports to me."

She looked at him skeptically. "I doubt that. All this effort into getting me here and you just remove all your people once I'm gone?"

He nodded in understanding. "I can see why you would doubt that. But I do not waste resources. Once your absence was noted from the palace, it would only be a matter of time before your ever-resourceful Crow discovered at least some of my people. So I elected to pull them all out before I lost any of them."

Lya frowned. In any other situation, with any other person, she would have believed they were telling the truth. And as much as she wanted to believe Osric was being honest, she could not.

"So why bring me here?"

Osric leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. He stood and walked to the window, looking out for a long moment before turning back to her. "You are here, Lya, for several reasons. I have questions and I need answers to them."

"So you kidnap me. There were no easier ways to get what you wanted?"

"What would you suggest? I could hardly go to Denerim myself. And had I sent someone to inquire on my behalf, can you honestly tell me that you would have answered their questions completely and truthfully?"

When she did not answer, he spread his hands. "You see my dilemma? And had I summoned you to Weisshaupt, you would have refused or ignored it."

"Yes, I would have, after what happened when Alistair-!"

"Your husband," he said, cutting her off suddenly, "jumped to some rather hasty conclusions when he was here. I had no intention of killing him, despite my personal feelings about his questionable judgment."

He sighed. "Nor do I have any plans right now to do anything to you. You, and Alistair, but mostly you, are too valuable for me to simply do away with right now." What he left unsaid, and what Lya understood, is that they would not always be too valuable.

"What do you mean we're too valuable?"

"You defeated a Blight and killed an archdemon. Do you not know what that means?"

Lya's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "We did what we had to. I hardly see how that makes us valuable to you."

Osric stared at her for a long moment, brows pulled together in a frown before his expression turned faintly incredulous. "You truly don't know, do you? You have no idea."

"Know what?"

"Know what it is that you did; what you _prevented_. You say it so casually, as if it were simply another battle. Your name will be legend among the Grey Wardens for centuries, if not longer. Story and song will herald your deeds long after we have all gone to dust. And you truly have no idea why."

He laughed ruefully and shook his head. "I forget, though I shouldn't, that you're not really a Warden."

Anger brought her chin up sharply as she glared at him. Osric saw her expression and raised a hand. "No, I do not mean that as an insult or to belittle you or your accomplishments. You were a Grey Warden for mere hours before you were left as one of the last two in all of Ferelden. The only other Warden was a novice. Neither of you truly understood what it meant to be a Warden, nor do I think you do even now.

"Why did you fight the Blight?"

It was her turn to frown at him. "Is that a serious question?"

"It is." He fixed his gaze on her, completely serious. "After Ostagar, you and Alistair stayed in Ferelden. You gathered an army, took sides in a civil war, and crowned kings. All of that endangered you greatly, and you were among a handful of people with knowledge the Grey Wardens could have used. You could have left, could have gone to Orlais and joined the other Wardens there. So why did you stay?"

"Leaving wasn't an option."

"Why not?" he pressed.

"Because if we had left, Ferelden would have fallen!"

"Exactly. You prove my point. You did not stay to defeat the Blight. You stayed to save Ferelden. For you, defeating the Blight was simply the means to an end. Any other Grey Warden would have left, Lya. They would have left Ferelden to tear itself apart fighting its own squabbles and made sure others were prepared to face the threat."

She looked at him in shock. "You would have sacrificed an entire nation? Simply let everyone perish?"

"Yes," he said. "That is what it means to be a Grey Warden. We fight to protect humanity when a Blight arises, not any individual country. Any nation can fall, as long as in the end the archdemon is defeated and the horde driven back."

He rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. "This is why we dislike recruiting nobility, especially nobility like you. You are too loyal, too dedicated to your people to ever truly be able to separate yourself from what you see as your duty. That is a commendable attitude in a teyrna or a queen, but not in a Grey Warden. This is not your fault."

"I hardly see it as a fault," she said bitingly.

"No, you wouldn't and I understand why. But be that as it may, there are things you need to understand."

He moved away from the window and towards her. "I think we should stop here for today. There are some things I would like you to read, to gain a better understanding and an appreciation for where I am coming from. I ask that you read them thoroughly and learn as much as you can. It's more important than you know."

Osric extended a hand to help her rise, but she ignored it, getting to her feet on her own. He shrugged and stepped back, allowing her to head towards the door and open it. Outside the door, her guard formed up around her to escort her back to her room. As they led her away, she glanced back over her shoulder. Osric watched her go, his expression unreadable.


	38. Chapter 37

Once again, I apologize for the delay. *sighs* So, in return, enjoy an extra long chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 37**

True to his word, several books were delivered to Lya shortly after she was returned to her room. She examined them before beginning to read any of them. They were thick, heavy tomes, and old. The leather of the bindings was faded, the pages yellowed with age, but they were very well cared for, opening easily with no cracking of the spine. Clearly these were considered important, enough to maintain them in immaculate condition.

Plucking the first book off the stack, she moved the others to the corner of the desk and settled into the chair to read. It took only moments for her to realize what all of the books were.

They were journals.

Not complete journals, she could tell that by flipping through and looking at the dates, but rather sections, some entries being consecutive while others skipped over weeks and months. Checking through the first book and then the others in the stack, she could tell they weren't even all by the same person, though the entries seemed to be grouped together by whoever wrote them.

Journals of Wardens, stretching back to the First Blight.

With a deep breath, she re-opened the first book and began to read.

* * *

She was left completely alone with the books, her only contact with the other Wardens coming when they brought her meals and clothes and removed things for cleaning. More books were delivered as well, but none were taken even though she had finished with some.

Reading the journals took her more time than reading usually did. Lya found them fascinating. She sat for hours, engrossed, as she slowly and carefully read about the lives and battles of Grey Wardens who had lived and fought centuries before. The language was sometimes difficult to understand, with odd turns of phrase or unfamiliar words.

But it wasn't language alone that made the journals difficult to read. She often had to pause to collect herself after some of the entries, so stomach-turning were they. She had seen a lot during the Blight and what happened in Amaranthine. Images and experiences had been seared so completely into her mind that she would remember them until the day she died. But those things paled in comparison to some of what these other Wardens had experienced.

Ferelden had been ravaged by the Blight, there was no denying that. The land had been blighted, villages slaughtered and destroyed. But the corruption hadn't lasted long, either because the Blight itself had not lasted long or because it had been weak. The land had begun to recover almost immediately. And while people had died, most Fereldans had survived. The losses were tragic, but hardly crippling.

That had not been the case in the four previous Blights.

For the Wardens who fought the previous Blights, they had lived through truly horrific times. Entire cites—_cities—_had fallen to the darkspawn. Denerim had seen destruction, but nothing like this. In some areas, no living thing had survived. The corruption of the land had been so widespread and complete that even decades of the Blights had been defeated, the land still refused to grow healthy crops. Even after the archdemons were defeated, famine and pestilence killed near on as many people as the Blights themselves had.

There were countless stories of unimaginable and unmitigated horror. Stark descriptions of cruelty and suffering beyond anything she had ever seen. The accounts were vivid enough that she found she didn't need to try very hard to imagine what it had been like to see corpses strewn across fields and plains as far as the eye could see.

One of the things that struck her the most, though, was how _long_ the Blights had lasted. She couldn't imagine what it was like being born into a blighted world, of growing up with the constant terror, of fighting every day and finally dying in a world still darkened and at war. She tried to think of what it must have been like to bring children into a world like that; to try to find some small happiness and joy, even knowing it could end in horror and agony.

Lya wondered if she would have been strong enough to do that. She didn't think so. Even now, thinking of Duncan and Elwyn made her ache, and so she did it as little as possible. It made her feel awful, like she was abandoning them, but it was easier. And when she read of what happened to children at the hands of the darkspawn, her vision shimmered and she felt like a monster for being grateful that _her_ children would not experience that.

The other thing that these Wardens had faced that truly got to her was the staggering losses of troops they had suffered.

She had lost troops in her battles. But they were fairly minor in the long run and she hadn't known them very long. The death of Varel at the Vigil had been hard because she had come to rely on him so much. In the short time she had been there, he had become a trusted friend and advisor. Sigrun had also been a hard loss, for all that she hadn't known the dwarven woman very long. She still wondered sometimes if she could have done something differently to save her. But somehow, in all the fighting, she had never lost anyone truly close to her.

Now, in the pages before her, she read about men and woman who had sent friends and loved ones into battle only to have them never return. In some cases, Wardens had ordered brothers and sisters to their deaths, knowing that their sacrifice would ensure a victory. There was even one nauseating instance of a Warden-Commander who had allowed a village to fall to the darkspawn in order to ensure his troops would be in place for a battle.

The village had been his childhood home, and his family had perished in the assault.

After a week of reading through these journals, Lya was fully cognizant of what Osric had meant when he said she wasn't really a Warden. Maybe it would have been different if she had lived during the other Blights, or if she had simply had to follow the orders of her commanding officers. Maybe if the Blight had been much worse, she could have brought herself to do what some of these men and women had done.

But she didn't think so.

If it was a weakness, she didn't care. She would pay any cost herself to keep her people safe, but she couldn't do what some of these Wardens had done. They were better men, better Grey Wardens than she, and she both admired and pitied them.

When she finished the book in her lap, she closed the cover and sat for a long time just staring blankly at a wall. There were still a few more books that would detail most of the Fourth Blight, but she needed some time to collect her thoughts. The knock that came at her door while she was thinking was a relief.

She answered it, and was surprised to find Osric there instead of another nameless Grey Warden. He took note of her the books scattered around the room and of her grave expression. He nodded, almost to himself, and then held a jacket out to her.

"Walk with me."

As Osric began to escort her down the hallway, the two guards stationed outside her door made as if to follow. He waved them away.

"But, ser…."

"I will be fine. Remain here."

"Yes, ser."

They walked for awhile in silence. The First Warden did not seem to have a particular destination in mind, seemingly content to simply wander. Lya noted as best she could where they were going, where staircases and other doorways were. She tried to be as circumspect as possible, not wanting to draw attention or arouse suspicion.

There were few other people as they walked, mostly a solitary Warden here or there going about some business. A few cast a hasty glance in her direction as they passed, but none said anything.

The halls they walked were all similar to what Alistair recounted—gray stone worn smooth from centuries of use with little ornamentation to detract from the austere beauty of the fortress. There were windows, though in many cases they were frosted over. It made her glad of the jacket.

Osric led her out through a set of heavy wooden doors out onto a small balcony. The icy air stung the exposed skin of her face, but she made no attempt to cover it. The air was cold, refreshing and carried the sharp tang that signaled snow. She stood there, just inhaling and enjoying the feeling, as false as it was, of freedom.

"So, you've had a chance to read the journals."

Lya turned towards Osric. He was leaning against the stone balustrade, looking out over the fortress and the peaks of the mountains. He very much reminded her of a king surveying his kingdom, and she realized that for all intents and purposes, that's exactly what he was here.

"Not all of them, no."

"But enough."

"Yes…. Enough."

"And what did you think?"

"I'm not exactly sure what to think," she said slowly. "I can't even imagine what it must have been like to be those Wardens. They sacrificed so much and for so many it seemed like it was in vain."

"It was _not_ in vain." The fierceness of his voice took her by surprise. "Every Warden was who died, died for a reason. Their lives, and their deaths, had meaning and purpose. They did not win every battle they fought, but in giving their lives, they ensured that others might live, that their brothers might live one more day to defeat their enemies."

She nodded. "In death, sacrifice," she murmured.

"Indeed. Those words have been true for countless generations, and they will continue to be true." He sighed. "I did not mean to get upset. My apologies. I sometimes am overeager in defense of my Wardens. I mean no offense."

"None taken."

"Please, continue with what you were saying."

She pursed her lips, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "They lost so much, and yet they never wavered, never gave up. I'm humbled by such dedication. It's incredible. You were right when you said I had no idea what we did and what we prevented. I truly had no idea how terrible the Blights are."

"And now that you do know?"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure I could do what some of those Wardens did." She laughed ruefully. "No, I know I couldn't do what some of them did. I don't have that kind of strength in me."

"Hmm, I think you underestimate yourself. Come, let's go back inside."

He held the door for her as they reentered the fortress. He left her to her thoughts as they walked back to his office in silence. Once inside, he poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her before serving himself. They settled into the chairs before his desk.

Osric sipped his tea slowly and studied her. "All Wardens feel as you do, at first. Reading those journals forces one to think. Although most Wardens do not read those specific journals, and those that do are usually Wardens for years before they're even allowed to see them. But it's difficult for all of us. We ask ourselves if we could have done what they did, if when it came right down to it, if we would be able to meet our fates with the courage and honor they did.

"And you know the answer to that question, Lya. When it came down to it, you did what you had to. Your methods might have been different, but in the end you accomplished your goal and you did it with unwavering courage and determination. You doubt you have the strength those other Wardens did. Do not. At times, it takes more strength to hold to your ideals. I admire that."

Lya wanted to laugh. She wondered if Osric had any idea of what her "unwavering courage and determination" had been at times. So often she had felt like she was coming apart, barely keeping herself, let alone her rag-tag group of would-be heroes, together. Too many times she had been overwhelmed, daunted by the sheer scope of the mission before her. Too often she had barely kept herself in check during a critical moment, only to fall apart from the stress afterward. And more than once she would have just stopped, unable to go on, if not for the constant weight of duty hanging over her and the steadfast loyalty of her companions.

And for all that she did, many times she only did it to save one person.

"I doubt that many Wardens could have done half so well as you. There's really only one area in which I can fault you."

The words lay heavy in the air as they looked at each other. So now they came to it—the reason she was here.

"Morrigan."

"Yes, Morrigan. Your friend, the daughter of Flemeth. A witch of the Wilds. Apostate and maleficar." A slight pause. "Mother of your husband's firstborn."

Lya stiffened in her seat. She couldn't help it. As much as she wanted to deny Osric the reaction she was seeking, her guard was up as she waited for him to continue.

"Why, Lya?" he asked softly. "After everything you had done, why did you falter there? Were you angry that you hadn't been told sooner? Was it some sort of desire to get back at the Wardens?"

"I was scared."

The words came without heat or anger; a simple statement of fact. She looked away from Osric before looking back. "All right? Is that what you wanted to hear? I was scared. Scared out of my mind. In fact, scared doesn't even begin to cover it. I'm not even sure what would. Frightened? Panicked? Terrified? They seem too weak to describe what I was feeling."  
"You were scared of dying?"

"No. I probably should have been, but I wasn't.'

"Ah, I see." His voice was quiet, his tone understanding. "You were afraid of losing Alistair."

She said nothing.

"You think he would have taken the final blow?"

"I _know_ he would have taken the final blow."

"You could have left him behind. I know you only brought a handful of companions with you when you entered the city. If you were so fearful of his life, and not afraid of losing your own, why not leave him behind? You could have done that."

"I didn't know at the time that that's what the situation was going to be. When Morrigan made her…offer, we had no idea what would be waiting for us in Denerim."

Osric waved a dismissive hand. "You're not stupid. One word from you, and Alistair would have been locked up somewhere safe and wrapped in swaddling. No, instead you ordered your fiancé to have sex with your very dear friend in order to conceive a child."

"I didn't order him."

"Semantics. Without you, he wouldn't have done it. And don't ask me how I know that. Your husband's so noble he makes my teeth ache. We both know that without your 'encouragement' he never would have done the ritual. So why did you do it?"

Lya leaned back in her chair, focusing her gaze away from Osric and onto the stone walls of his office. "Tell me, Osric, when you received reports and sent people to spy on me, did anyone tell you the Savior of Ferelden is a selfish bitch?" She looked back at him. "Because I am. I wasn't willing to give up the life I had carved out for myself. I _wanted_ what I had found with Alistair and I wasn't going to let it just be taken from me. I was willing to do whatever it took to keep what I had."

It was Osric's turn to lean back. "I see." He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steeped his fingers before him. "Do you know why we fear what you've done so much, Lya? You've read firsthand accounts of how devastating a blight is when it's merely a mindless horde driven by a corrupted Old God. What happens if the next Blight is led by a _sane_ Old God, one who can think and command its soldiers like an actual general? What then? How do we combat that?"

She shook her head. "No, Morrigan said she didn't seek the forces that tainted it, only the essence of the Old God itself."

"Only! Only the essence of an Old God! Lya, it is the essence of the Old Gods that call to the darkspawn in the first place. There is no way to know if her child will do the same thing, or what will happen if the darkspawn find it."

"I don't think Morrigan would have done that if that were the case. She has a very strong sense of self-preservation and being continually hunted by the darkspawn is not the safest way to live."

"Can you guarantee that? Can you know for certain?"

She pressed her lips together in a thin line. "You know damn well that I can't."

"And yet you trusted her enough to do it anyway." She said nothing. "But…you didn't trust her, did you?" he asked slowly.

"Do I think she told me the complete truth? No." Lya met Osric's gaze firmly. "But I do not believe she would do anything to endanger me. Whatever her plans are, I don't believe they're malicious."

"They don't have to be malicious to end in disaster." He sighed. "Tell me, knowing what you know now, if you had it to do over again, would you do the same thing?"

"I don't know."

"And why did you tell us? Had you and Alistair simply continued to lie, we probably never would have discovered it. You had to know we wouldn't be pleased. Why tell us in the first place?"

'You deserved to know. In case…."

"In case you were wrong."

"Yes."

"Well, at least you're honest." Osric rose and poured himself a fresh cup of tea. He looked at her and she shook her head.

As she watched him walk back to his seat, Lya tried to relax. She was so tense. She knew Osric could not be as calm about the situation as he was pretending to be. Whatever his goal was, whatever it was that he wanted, she had a feeling he wasn't going to keep it hidden much longer.

He sipped his tea slowly, taking his time and then setting the empty cup on his desk. "We need to find Morrigan. Will you help us?"

"Even if I knew how to find her, no, I wouldn't. If she doesn't want to be found, she won't be. And I won't go back on my word to her. Not after she kept her end of our bargain."

Osric nodded. "I expected as much. No matter. We will continue looking ourselves and there are more pressing concerns, after all.

"The Grey Wardens are weak, Lya."

She started. After all the trouble Osric had gone through to make sure she knew exactly how much power he wielded, that he would say that surprised her.

"Here in the Anderfels we have a strong base of power. The king is a puppet and the Wardens rule in all but name. But the Anderfels is a poor nation. The poorest in all of Thedas, and it likely always will be, despite our efforts. But it can support us, and it does so willingly. The trouble with the Wardens lies in the other nations. We have a presence in all of them, to varying degrees, but support is strongest in two countries in particular. Can you guess what they are?"

After a moment's though, the answer came to her. "Ferelden and Orlais."

Osric smiled. "Quite right. The Orlesians have been very dedicated to supporting the Wardens for the last couple of centuries, ever since the Order was expelled from Ferelden. They were the best suited to making sure the south was held since we could not enter Ferelden. And now, after the Blight, Ferelden holds the Wardens in higher esteem than any other nation. That, in turn, has led to higher prestige in the rest of Thedas. Recruitment numbers are up everywhere, and I have you to thank for that.

"But the fact remains that we are weak. Our numbers are still only a fraction of what they used to be, and we do not receive the support from governments that we used to. You read in the journal that countries have denied aid in fighting the Blights, as if the archdemons would respect boundary lines." He gave a snort of derisive laughter. "Fools.

"We need to be stronger, and that is difficult to do. One of the reasons I was initially so pleased with both you and Alistair on the throne was that, in effect, it gave the Wardens another country to rule."

Lya's eyes widened. That was _not_ what the situation was at all! Osric noted her expression and raised a hand.

"Yes, yes, I know. That was not how you saw it. I understand that quite clearly now. But the fact remains that that is how a great majority of people in power saw it. What I would like is to extend that power. With your help, we can ensure that the Grey Wardens are positioned better for the next blight. That we can have the guaranteed support of dedicated governments, able to meet the demands that fighting a blight requires. We already have that in the Anderfels, and in Orlais in all but name. We can add Ferelden to that list. It would give the Wardens a large, secure base of power to help ensure the next blight is defeated as quickly as this one was."

He could not be suggesting what she thought he was. "I don't think I quite understand what you mean."

"I think you do, but I'll humor you. I want to set Ferelden up similar to the Anderfels—Wardens in power, from the background, of course."

Anger flared through her and her hands tightened on the arms of her chair. "You're trying to punish us."

Osric shook his head. "If all I sought was punishment, Lya, I have far better methods at my disposal. I do not intend to take your throne. You and Alistair will remain right where you are, and your children will follow you. In fact, I prefer that. I want to keep the two of you exactly where you are. You know your country and people best, and have done an excellent job since you took the throne. But you have shown highly questionable judgment in the past. Your decisions might lead to the worst cataclysm that has ever been seen in Thedas."

"You can't know that!"

"Maybe. But if I'm right, how will you deal with it? What if the consequences of your actions aren't realized until after you and Alistair are dead? How will you fulfill your debt to your people then? What about all of the innocents in other countries?"

Her mouth fell open, and she wanted to deny the thread of truth in his words. Sensing that moment of weakness, Osric pressed his advantage.

"You have always done what's right, Lya. All I'm asking you to do is what's right now. Realize your debt not only to the Wardens, but to all the people of Thedas. You _owe_ then. Make it up to them by giving them ability to fight back when they need to."

"No." Shaking her head, she looked at him with barely concealed disgust. "No. Never."

"Don't answer now. You need to think about it. If you accept my offer, you'll lose some of your freedom and control, yes, but there are benefits. You'll be strengthening the Wardens and Ferelden. If something were to happen, Ferelden would be a seat of power for the Wardens, and unlike what happened with you, the crown would be both willing and able to render whatever aid the Wardens needed to defend the people.

"And you will be able to atone for your mistakes. The slate will be wiped clean and you can start anew, without this terrible burden on your conscience." He tilted his head, and in the sudden cold glitter of his eyes, Lya saw the façade he had been maintaining fall away.

"There is also the matter of your family. Accept my offer and I can ensure their safety. You have my promise that no harm will ever befall them. They will be protected by the finest warriors in all of Thedas, have access to the most powerful magic, be educated by some of the most leaned men and women in existence."

Panic lanced through her, as sharp and bitter as when she had first awoken on the ship. Osric knew the one thing that might compel her to bend to his will, and he used it mercilessly. Perhaps he saw that because the kind, understanding mask he had worn slipped back into place.

"Think about it," he said gently. "You're an intelligent woman. I'm sure you can see all the advantages an arrangement such as this can have."

He smiled at her. It was gentle, understanding and fatherly, and completely horrifying when paired with his final words. "And your experience is more than enough to remind you of how poorly things could go if you refuse to cooperate."


	39. Chapter 38

Sometimes your characters take you on strange journeys. This chapter is an example of that. Enjoy!

P.S. Thank you to everyone who has given me feedback. It's quite helpful and I enjoy hearing from you. I also want to thank everyone for staying with me, even when I was being lame and slow with updating. *bows*

* * *

**Chapter 38**

The guards escorted her back to her room and she was left alone with nothing but Osric's words in her ears and the thoughts racing through her head. She ignored the chair and the bed in favor of leaning against a wall and then sliding down to sit on the floor. With her arms on her knees and hands dangling limply, she rested her head against the cold stone behind her and tried to organize her thoughts.

What she wanted more than anything was to throw Osric's words back in his face; to refute everything he had said with fury and righteousness and conviction.

She couldn't.

That was the damning part, the part that galled her more than anything else. When Osric had brutally laid out the possible consequences of her actions, she had felt the truth of it. She did not think, if there were repercussions, it would be as bad as he made it out to be, but the possibility for it _was_ there. If the ritual with Morrigan came back in devastating fashion, it would be her fault.

She raked her hands through hair that was getting too long and cursed softly. What Osric asked was too much, though. Personal concessions she would be willing to give, but to turn her family, her people, her country in pawns to be used in his games was unacceptable. It wouldn't even work. What would even give him the idea that his plan was feasible?

As she turned it over in her mind, though, she began to grasp the likely scenario Osric wanted to set up. He wouldn't care about actually running the country. The Wardens already had control of Amaranthine. The Warden-Commander was an arl, and had a say at the Landsmeet. How much more difficult would it be to ensure some extra funds flowed into Amaranthine? Or have trade contracts with slightly more favorable conditions for the Vigil? To ensure any disputes came down in favor of the Wardens? To encourage recruitment and respect? To have a Warden advisor on the council?

To slowly, but surely, integrate Warden interests with those of the throne?

It wouldn't be all that hard to do, not now. And after she and Alistair were dead, their children would take over. If they had been raised the right way, trained in how to think and act, the transition would be seamless. In turn the same could apply to their children.

And really, if it were for the _greater good_, what was the sacrifice of one small family? And it wouldn't even be that great a sacrifice. No one would ever know about the influence from the shadows or that the Wardens would hold the lives of loved ones as collateral to ensure good behavior.

She shoved herself up and off the floor. With a snarl, she snatched one of the unread books and practically threw herself down on the bed, needing something to distract her traitorous mind. Was she insane? How could she even consider something like that?

Unfortunately, continuing to read the journals did not help, but she had nothing else, so she pressed on grimly.

The day passed with agonizing slowness. Lya couldn't concentrate, her mind continually going back to Osric, his offer and the ramifications of her past and future choices. Her eyes could see the words on a page a dozen times before she actually read them with any understanding. The meal that was brought remained untouched as she wrestled with her conscience.

Eventually, she laid the book aside and stretched out on the bed, trying to will herself to sleep. But her mind continued to race. She lay on the bed as minutes stretched into hours with no sound to distract her but the howling of the wind against the fortress. When sleep finally did claim her, it was swift and without warning.

* * *

She was on a battlefield.

Lya blinked and shook her head, trying to clear it. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. The battlefield was huge, seemingly stretching from horizon to horizon, no end in sight. At her feet, corpses littered the ground, human and darkspawn alike. Off in the distance she could hear the sounds of battle, metal against armor and the screams of the wounded.

Moving carefully, she made her way across the battlefield towards the sounds of fighting. Everywhere she looked, men and women fought the darkspawn, dealing damage, but taking terrible looses in return. It seemed as if for every darkspawn they cut down, two more rose up in its place. She gripped her sword and prepared to join them when a terrible shrieking laughter froze her in place.

With a sense of dread, she turned slowly towards the laughter. There, atop a pile of corpses, stood a being taller than any human could possibly be. Rising into the air, he looked down upon the carnage and laughed in wild delight. And then he turned his gaze towards her.

Piercing yellow eyes set inside Alistair's face narrowed as he saw her, and his mouth curved in a wicked smile. He held out his hand to her.

"Come. Join me. Look at what we've done together." His arms opened and gestured expansively to the battlefield around him. "I've been waiting for you, you know. Join me, Mother. You don't mind if I call you that, do you? After all, you're my mother in the truest sense of the word. I wouldn't be here if not for you. So come, let us reap what you have sown together."

She shook her dumbly and took a faltering step away from him. "No. No, this isn't real. It can't be."

He was suddenly before her, normal-sized and all the more terrifying for it. "Oh, but it is real. You know this to be true." His voice dropped low into a seductive purr and it wound its way through her, igniting the taint in her blood like fire. "Join me. Come see what you have wrought…"

Instinct drove her as she brought her arm up and drove it through his chest. He looked down in bemusement at the weapon protruding from his flesh and laughed, his head thrown back.

"So be it then," he said, and reached out and tore her heart from her chest.

* * *

She sat up in bed, screaming.

Frantically, she tore the covers off of her and bolted for the door, needing to get out, to go anywhere but where she was. The door openly easily and stumbled out into the hall, falling to her knees as her body shook. She waited, expecting the guards to quickly seize her. But when nothing happened, she looked up.

The familiar halls of Highever surrounded her.

She got to her feet shakily and looked around. The room she had come out of was her own. She could see the doors to Fergus's and her parents' rooms, but they were closed. Confused, she got to her feet and walked down the hallway.

She passed the guest bedrooms and walked out of the family quarters, down into the castle proper. The castle was silent, completely empty. She was very nearly at the main hall before she heard a sound other than her own ragged breathing and the slap of her bare feet on the stones.

The sounds grew louder as she approached the door, but she couldn't quite make out exactly what it was. It sounded like a crowd trying to be quiet, snatches of murmurs and shuffling feet. She reached out a shaking hand, opened the door and stepped inside.

The figures in the room had their backs to her, but as she fully entered, they turned slowly to face her. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at them. Men, women and children stared at her from dead eyes, silently accusing her. Their bodies were covered with gruesome wounds—flesh hanging open, skin and clothing stained with dried blood.

They moved towards her, shuffling past her silently, their eyes and thoughts damning her. _This is your fault_, the said. _We are dead because of you_.

"No." She shook her head. "I didn't do this! I didn't want this!"

_You did_, their empty eyes said. _You chose this. You wanted this._

"No!" she screamed, covering her ears with her hands. But their thoughts still found their way in. They left the room, and Lya found she now recognized the figures left.

"Well, Warden, it looks like I was right about you after all." Loghain's gravelly, accusing voice cut through her. He came forward, his gray armor blood splattered and a ragged line of red across his throat. "I thought Ferelden would be safe with you. It appears I was wrong. More the fool I. I should have trusted my original judgment." With a look of scorn, he moved past her, his armored form striking her arm and shoulder as he went, staggering her.

Cailan followed him, his face and armor ravaged like they had found at Ostagar. He said nothing, just looked at her sadly, and she knew she had failed her king.

The rest of the figures stayed where they were, forcing her to come to them. She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself as she approached the first huddled group. Familiar, well-loved faces looked up as she approached.

Sten was the first to move, drawing Asala from his back. He held the blade by both hands, and with a flex of his arms, snapped it in half. With bleeding hands, he threw the pieces as her feet. Shale moved next, her form shivering as it slowly turned into sand and slithered into a heap on the floor. Lya stretched out a horrified hand and the sand slid over it.

"Sod it. I should have stayed in Tapster's."

"Oghren?" she asked, turning towards the dwarf. He looked at her through bleary, yellowed eyes. His hair and beard were matted, his armor and axe bloodstained. From his belt hung flasks and dried blood was crusted along the tops and sides of them. He took one from his belt and drank. Blood ran from the sides of his mouth and down his chest. As he finished, he grabbed his throat, choking. The flask fell to the floor and moments later his still floor crashed to the floor atop it.

"Oghren!" she screamed, falling to her knees beside him. "Wynne, help him!" The mage looked at her coldly. "Wynne?"

"There's nothing I can do for him. It should be you choking on all that blood. Haven't you have enough? Is all that you've spilled not enough to slake your thirst?"

"Of course not. I would think that was apparent." Morrigan moved to the forefront and Lya covered her mouth at the sight of the red gaping wound across the witch's abdomen. "You did this!" Morrigan sneered. "You killed my child. You betrayed me in some fool attempt to save yourself!"

"No! I wouldn't! I gave you my word, Morrigan!"

Morrigan spat at her and turned on her heel, stalking off out of sight. Lya wiped the tears that had started leaking from her eyes.

"Oh, and now she cries for us! How touching!" The accented voice of the bard was harsh and mocking. Leliana pushed her way to the front and started down at Lya. Her head was shorn, the pretty red tresses cruelly hacked off.

Lya reached for her friend, but Leliana pushed her back roughly. "I thought you were different. I thought you understood. But we were just tools to you, something for you to use and then throw away. I thought you were my friend!"

"I am your friend, Leliana!" She got back to feet and took a stumbling step towards the bard, but the woman stepped back, avoiding her grasp.

"You lie! You are worse than Marjolaine! You made us think you actually cared for us, that we were more to you than slaves to be used by their master. Isn't that right, Zevran?"

"It is indeed, my dear Leliana."

Lya looked over, hopeful. Zevran would understand. He was her best friend, how could he not? The small smile that had started to form crumbled as she saw the assassin's pain-filled face. Blood ran down his face and neck from the two bleeding holes where his ears used to be.

"Zevran, your ears…" she gasped, horrified.

"Ah, is that the first thing you see, my dear Grey Warden? And how I had hoped you were different. Like every other shem, the first thing you look for is my pointed ears. Tell me, how many times did you call me 'knife-ear' when I couldn't hear you? Did you enjoy having your very own knife-eared slave to do your dirty work?"

"No! Oh, Zevran, please no! I never thought that! Never!"

"Oh? Then what about these?" He held up his hands to show her and she screamed. His fingers were gone, cut off at the knuckle where they met his hands. The wounds bleed freely, coating his hands and arms with blood. "Are my hands covered with enough blood now, Warden? How long would you keep me alive now that I am of no use to you? And what of this?" Zevran moved one of his mutilated hands and pushed his shirt open, revealing the gaping hole in his chest. "This is your fault, my dear Warden. Once I had no heart, but you gave me one, and then you took it back. You are cruel, crueler than any Master Crow."

"She is cruel, to kill a man's father in cold blood and take his home."

"Nate…."

Nathaniel stepped up, the hilt of the Cousland sword protruding from his abdomen. "How many times did you want to do this to me, _Commander_? How many times did I turn just in time to keep you from sinking your blade into my back?"

"Oh, I know!" Anders stepped up and grinned. "Our Commander, our fearless leader, who sentenced us to death with a smile and a poisoned chalice. Her definition of mercy leaves a lot to be desired. What were her words? 'It doesn't matter how they die, as long as it's against the darkspawn?' So what shall it be, Commander? How shall we die for you?"

With a sob, she fled from her former friends and their accusing eyes. Her eyes blurred and she stumbled across the stone floor, tripping on the carpet and falling into an armored figure. She looked up and saw the familiar brown eyes and hair.

"Fergus!" she cried. "Fergus, please, help me!"

"Help you?" He laughed bitterly. "Where were you when I needed _your_ help? Where were you when my wife and son were being slaughtered not twenty feet from your door? Did you just ignore their screams as they died or were you too busy seducing that whelp Dairren to care that your home was falling around you?"

"Dairren? What are you talking about? I was alone! Asleep! I didn't hear them!"

"Didn't hear them or didn't want to?" He put his arms around Oriana and Oren who had stepped up to his side as he spoke. "It should have been you that died that night," he hissed. "They died and you lived and it should have been the other way around!"

"Fergus!" she sobbed and screamed again as Oren and Oriana suddenly sprouted wounds and collapsed to the floor. Fergus stepped back from them and put his arms around Dara and Nathaniel. "Go, little sister. Leave so I can have some time with my family before you kill them, too."

Tears streaming freely down her face, she turned from his hateful gaze and fled. This time she was met by a pair of soft arms. Long-missed hands stroked her face for a moment before the slim fingers locked on her jaw, nails digging in as Eleanor forced her daughter to look at her,

"I can't believe I was ever thankful I had a daughter." Eleanor made a disgusted sound. "To think of all the hopes I had for you."

"Mum, please, not you, too…."

"Just look at her, Bryce. Have you ever seen anything so pathetic?"

"No." Her father stepped up beside her mother and Lya felt something die inside her.

"Da," she whispered, her childhood name for him coming unbidden. Her father wouldn't do this to her. He couldn't. Not when she had spent so long trying to make him proud.

"A Cousland always does their duty, pup. I told you that so many times, and I thought you listened."

"I did listed, Da! I did!"

Bryce shook his head sadly. "No, dear girl, you didn't. All you had to do was die, and you were too much of a coward to do that. You are a disappointment to me, pup. Go. Leave my sight. You dishonor the Cousland name with every breath you take."

Lya reached out to grab his sleeve, but he jerked out of her grasp. She watched numbly, grief and pain too great for even tears now, as her parents turned their backs on her and joined Fergus.

And she wasn't done walking through the hall yet.

At the far end was a figure that hadn't turned when everyone else did. He knelt on the floor, his back to her and head bowed. She approached slowly, foreboding weighing down her steps.

"Alistair?" she whispered hoarsely, but he gave no sign that he heard her or even felt her presence. His form was hunched over something, and from her current position she couldn't see what it was. She circled him cautiously and when she finally did come to a stop in front of him, she was violently ill.

Cradled in Alistair's arms were the mangled bodies of Duncan and Elwyn. She collapsed to the ground as she retched. When there was nothing left, her stomach continued to heave and her stomach ached from the force of her gagging. After several minutes she wiped her mouth with her arm and crawled across the floor to her family.

"Alistair," she begged, reaching for her children, "what happened?"

"No!" He drew them away from her. "Don't touch them! You don't have the right! You did this!" His gaze was full of hurt and accusation and as she watched tears well in his eyes and run down his cheeks.

"Why, Lya?" he whispered brokenly. "Why? Why did you let this happen? You could have stopped it. I never wanted this, but you insisted. And I accepted it because I loved you. You wanted power and you got it. You wanted to keep your power, and you did, and you killed our children to do it."

"Alistair…."

"I hate you," he said, his voice dull and lifeless. "I wonder now what I ever saw in you to love. But that's gone now.

"I hate you."

* * *

Lya bolted up in bed, one hand clutched to her chest while the other muffled her scream. She drew in heaving breaths and tried to stand up, sitting back down quickly as shaking legs refused to support her. For a long time she sat there, hands gripping the blanket beneath her as her heart slowed its furious beating.

When she was calmer, she stood and walked slowly to the basin. The water was cold, but she splashed it on her face anyway. The chill helped clear her mind. She sat at the desk, pushing the tray off to the side as even the smell of cold food set her stomach to roiling.

Elbows on the desk, she cradled her head in her hands and tried to sort out what in the Maker's name had just happened. It had been years since she had had nightmares that bad. None had scared her that badly since the Blight ended. She knew the nightmare was a product of her current fear, guilt and worry. It didn't make it any less horrifying.

The images from the nightmare were fading, but the memories of her dead children stayed in vivid clarity. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and dug the heels of her hands into them, but it didn't help. She was still tired, but didn't even consider going back to bed. No force in the world could make her close her eyes again and risk seeing _that_ again.

Lya stayed in the chair, unmoving as the sun slowly rose. She was still there when the guards came to take her dinner tray and bring her breakfast. If they noted her haggard appearance, they said nothing. The tray remained untouched, growing cold, as Lya sat and tried to find some way out of this mess.


	40. Chapter 39

It's nice getting back into the pace of writing on a regular basis. A bit shorter than the last couple of chapters. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 39**

In the end, it was Wynne and Oghren that showed her the way.

One night in camp when they were on the road, Wynne had asked Lya what being a Grey Warden meant to her. At the time, she didn't have a good answer to give the mage. She really didn't know, and the situation hadn't given her much time to really think about it.

Wynne had smiled and patted her arm and talked about how Grey Wardens were guardians of men, how they were there to serve. It had seemed important to the older woman that she made sure she got her point across. Lya had listened politely and quickly forgotten the conversation as the more immediate concerns of staying alive took precedence.

The conversation came back to her now, though. Wynne had a romantic notion of what the Wardens were, but there was still a kernel of truth in her vision of them. Grey Wardens were the only thing that stood between the darkspawn horde and Thedas when an archdemon arose. They stood and fought because they were the only ones who could. When all seemed lost, they were a light in the dark. Grey Wardens existed to defend life, not control it. Their methods might be harsh and brutal, but their purpose was a noble one.

In all of the journals she had read, Lya hadn't read of a single instance of a Warden wishing to rule over man. They railed against the pettiness of leaders, grew frustrated and angry when small-minded men couldn't see enough of the big picture to sacrifice some of what they had. There were examples of Wardens hating the way things were run and expressing the belief they could do a better job, but none had attempted to do so. They may have cut such leaders off, left them to defend themselves, but they didn't try to usurp their position.

She could understand Osric's desire to increase the power of the Grey Wardens. When you were in charge, it was a lot easier to make sure your men were provided for, that they had everything they needed to get their job done. But being queen had shown her difficult that sometimes was to achieve. Ruling Amaranthine in particular had taught her just how far Warden needs differed from those of the people. It had been a constant balancing act, and whenever she took from others to support the Wardens, it had been met with resentment. The demands of ruling had distracted her from running the Wardens as efficiently. And that was in just a single arling. Expand that to cover an entire nation and the situation would untenable. The necessary politics of such a situation would mean the Wardens would never truly be free to focus on what they needed to.

She couldn't do it.

Her understanding of what the Wardens really were might be new, it might be incomplete, but it was true. If all Osric had asked for was the support of the throne, she could have granted it. But she wouldn't betray what the Wardens were to serve his goals. And she would not betray her people and her country, either. Eventually, Osric would demand her answer and she would have to be strong enough to hold true to her beliefs.

And it was going to cost her everything.

The first tear fell, followed by a second and then a third. And then they came so rapidly they were beyond counting. She hated crying, especially like this, but she needed to, needed this outlet for her grief. Once her answer was given, Osric's path would be clear. Whether he killed her or simply kept her here, she wasn't going home again.

Lya wouldn't see Ferelden again. All she would have of the familiar, well-loved people and places were her memories. The smell of the sea from Highever, the view of Denerim from a palace balcony, Fergus grinning at her, her friends laughing and teasing….

There would be no more Alistair. It seemed so stupid, but she would miss their fights. They could both be so stubborn and sometimes they butted heads in spectacular arguments. No one else ever met her head on like that and she loved it, especially the way he would arch one brow when he was particularly annoyed and give her _that_ look. And that meant no more making up. No more silly jokes or lopsided grins, or the feel of his hands on her skin and warmth of his body next to hers. Never another last kiss and whispered "I love you" before she fell asleep.

And she wouldn't see her children again.

At that thought, at the realization she would _never_ hold them again and hear them call her name, she came undone. The longing to hold them was a physical thing, an ache she could feel in her chest and arms. Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed, her entire body shuddering with the force of her grief.

She wanted so many things. She wanted to watch them grow up, to make memories with them that they could carry with them long after she was gone, like her parents had done with her. Things like losing their first tooth, riding their first pony, putting their first practice sword in their hands, and she would experience none of it. She would never see them fall in love or start their own lives and it was _wrong_.

Osric was going to take all of those things away from them. Not only that, he had threatened them, dangling her children's lives in front of her like some prize. She understood exactly how her parents had felt, their desperation to agree to anything to save her.

From where she was, Lya couldn't protect then. Not unless she wanted to betray and enslave them. She clung to the thought that they still had Alistair and Zevran and countless others who would do anything for them. But it wasn't enough. _She_ wanted to be the one to protect them, to stand as shield between them and any danger.

Her grief turned to rage.

Fighting that rage had been something she had done since the first day she was taken from Denerim. It had been like reliving the Blight all over again, when she hadn't known how to get rid of it. It sat like an ugly red monster in her chest, all tooth and claw and pain. It fought her, demanding to be let out to it could destroy and inflict that hurt on everything around it. She had wrestled with it for months, not knowing how to deal with those feelings and hoping they would just go away.

And after Orzammar and the Deep Roads, Oghren had been her light in the darkness, showing her the way home. She finally corned him one day in camp and demanded to know how to use it.

"If you've got the rage in you, let it out. _Use it_. It's part of who you are and there's no sense in denying it. You only hurt yourself if you try. And when you do that, you hurt everyone around you."

"But what about the loss of control?" she asked nervously. The idea of just letting go and letting the rage sweep over her terrified her.

"_Sod_ control, Warden. If you're a berserker, and you are, control won't help you. Let the rage out. You'll know what to do."

He was right. The first time she used it, it had been exhilarating. The monster was unleashed and once she gave it its head, it obeyed her, giving her its strength. It had been wild and scary, and when it was over, she had felt more whole and complete than she had since leaving Highever.

She could feel the monster now. It raged and snarled within her and she needed to use its strength. So she let go. The anger crawled through her veins like fire, searing its way through the grief and fear. It burned hot and clean, until there was nothing left but the rage. In battle, this was when she would release it, letting it flow out of her in one vicious attack that would soothe the monster. But here there was no enemy and no sword with which to strike.

For long moments she tried to hold it in check. But finally it slipped free. There wasn't much in the room to serve as a focus, but her hands found the back of the chair, gripped it with white-knuckled fists and _hurled_ it across the room.

It met the stone in an explosion of sound and wood fragments, and Lya felt a great deal of satisfaction at seeing the mess. The monster was gone, taking the rage with it. In its wake, she was left with a sense of resolve and calm. The door flew open, the two guards coming in to see what the noise had been. She regarded them calmly as they took in the remnants of the chair and then looked at her.

"I'm going to need a new chair."

The two Wardens exchanged a quick glance, unsure of how to respond to such a statement. They backed out of the room slowly, firmly closing the door behind them. Lya seated herself on the end of the bed and waited.

* * *

The guards must have informed Osric fairly quickly that their charge was behaving strangely since it didn't take him very long to come see what the problem was. Part of her took a perverse delight that this time it was him coming to her instead of the other way around.

He entered the room, looking first at her and then at the chair, and just raised an eyebrow.

"I've been thinking about your offer."

"Ah," he said. "And I take you've come to a decision?"

"I have." She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "No."

Osric nodded. "You disappoint me, Lya. I can't say I'm totally surprised, but I had hoped you would see reason; that after what you were shown, you would understand."

She shook her head sadly. "I do understand, probably more than you know. I may not be the kind of Warden you want, Osric, but I _am_ a Warden. What you're asking me to do…. It's wrong. That's not what we are."

"Your opinion is noted, even it it's wrong." He sighed. "Very well. Then I suppose I'll just have to turn my negotiations elsewhere." He held out a hand. "Your wedding ring, please."

Her right hand fisted in her lap. "What?"

"Oh, come now, my dear girl," he laughed. "You didn't really think I would simply accept your refusal and that would be it, did you? Your husband is so very protective of you that I have a feeling he'll be more than willing to hear me out. After all, what wouldn't he give to have his wife and the mother of his children returned to him, safe and sound?"

There was a moment of panic as she thought that Alistair just might agree to that. "He won't. He wouldn't do that."

"I think you underestimate your husband. Regardless, he deserves the chance to decide for himself, don't you think? Now," he gestured again, "your ring. He will need a least a token as a gesture of good faith."

When her hand remained still and closed, he sighed in exasperation. "Your defiance is a meaningless gesture, Lya. You cannot stop me from taking it, and I have no desire to hurt you to do it."

Closing her eyes, Lya uncurled her hand and slowly slid the silverite band off her middle finger. She extended it to Osric, hand shaking slightly. He examined it, looking at the shapes delicately worked into the gleaming metal. It was simple really, and a bit silly—an alternating line of rampant griffons and mabari that circled the entire band, the symbols of both who and what they were.

Alistair wasn't one for grand, romantic gestures. She knew her necklace at home, the one in the shape of the rose, had come partly from Zevran's prompting. But this ring had been solely him, and she remembered the slight apprehension in his face as he waited to see her reaction. It had been so sweet and endearing that she had instantly fallen in love with it.

She waited now for Osric to mock it, to poke fun at the naïveté and silliness behind it. But he didn't.

"Interesting," he said, looking at her thoughtfully. Then he slid the ring into his pocket. "As before, your needs will all be met. Hopefully, Alistair will prove more reasonable and you can be returned home soon." He cast another glance at the broken chair against the wall. "And we'll get you a new chair. Try not to break this one." He inclined his head slightly and left.

Once the door closed behind him, she sagged back on the bed. Her fingers worried over the empty spot where her ring had been. It was out of her hands now, and she prayed she had done the right thing. She had to believe Alistair would do the right thing and that he would keep everyone else safe.

They would be all right.

She had to believe that.


	41. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

The first night after Lya's disappearance, Alistair couldn't sleep. Every time he tried, every time his eyes closed and he started to drift, he would jerk awake, momentarily panicked. He eventually gave up trying to sleep. Instead he alternated between pacing and watching his children sleep, slightly envious of their obliviousness. Finally, he left his bedchamber and went into the sitting room.

Daevanya looked up and then stood as he entered the room. He nodded to towards the door. "Watch them until I get back."

"Of course, your Majesty." He waited until she had closed the door behind her before leaving his rooms. Two of the soldiers that now stood guard in the hall followed him as he made his way down to the small chantry located inside the palace. With a gesture for the guards to stay, and leaving the door open so they could see inside, he made his way to the front of the room.

It was empty. No revered mother, no initiates or brothers, not even any candles lit. The moonlight streaming in through the high narrow windows provided enough light to see by as he dropped to his knees before the altar and the statue of Andraste. He bowed his head and tried to find the right words.

"I've never been very good at this," he began with a bitter laugh, "so please forgive me for that. I know…. I know I'm not the most pious person, not even close to it." He paused and took a ragged breath.

"I've never asked for much. Maybe that's part of the problem. Maybe I should have turned to You or Your Prophet more instead of thinking I could handle everything on my own. I don't know. If that's where I've gone wrong, I apologize. But I'm asking for something now.

"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, don't take her from me. I _need_ her. She's the only reason I have anything right and good in my life and it's not worth it without her. If this…. If this is because of something I've done, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but don't make her pay for it. She hasn't done anything to deserve this, and if there's punishment to bear, or a price to be paid, let it fall on me.

"So I'm asking You, I'm _begging_ You, please bring her back. I'll do anything, just…. Please…."

His shoulders sagged as his voice faltered, unable to continue. He knelt there, feeling the cold stone beneath him digging into his knees. Minutes passed as he waited. But nothing happened. Alistair didn't know what he had expected. A feeling of peace? Some sign that his plea had been acknowledged? Maybe for the statue of Andraste herself to get down off her pedestal and stride off, her own sword of mercy ready to aid him?

None of that happened. Alistair pushed himself off the floor and walked slowly out of the chantry. The guards followed silently, showing no sign of whether or not they had listened in on his whispered prayers. Dismissing Daevanya back into the sitting room, he settled onto his bed, idly stroking the sleeping forms of his children until dawn began peeking through the windows and he rose to begin another day.

* * *

If the faces of his friends were any indication, none of them had managed much sleep either. Dark circles and haggard looks were found on nearly every face. Only Wynne seemed calm as they began attending to tasks.

Zevran spent the first part of his morning in conversation with his agents, covering who he wanted them to question or follow. Alistair and Eamon discussed how to handle the nobility. The fact that Alistair had dismissed the Royal Guard from duty and had them confined, and brought in the army to secure the palace, could not be kept under wraps much longer. Tongues would always wag, and the information would travel through Denerim and then the Bannorn like fire. And once Lya's absence was noted, they would have to explain it.

Eamon was adamant that they not reveal Lya was kidnapped. "It will reflect very poorly on everyone if this is revealed."

Alistair's lip curled. "Do you really think we're going to be able to keep this from getting out?"

"Not forever, no. But the more time we can buy the better. It will give Zevran more time to find information, hopefully before anyone can cover their trails. For now, we should just say she was called away on urgent matters. Once it does get out, you'll have to be prepared to face questions."

"We'll see about that." Eamon looked at Alistair carefully, but didn't comment. "All right, we'll go with that for now. What next?"

"I believe you wanted to discuss more security measures with General Bredon."

Alistair nodded. "I do. I want the area around the immediately around the palace secured as well what's normally patrolled. If this had been done sooner…." With a shake of his head, he stopped. Dwelling on that didn't help now. "All right, what comes after that?"

"I think after that we should take a look at a land dispute between a few banns. The situation is tense and you don't want it escalating."

Silence fell between the two men as Alistair just stared at Eamon. "I'm sorry, but did I hear you right? You want me to deal with a _land dispute_?"

"Yes."

"Eamon, my wife was just _kidnapped_ and you want me to deal with a petty squabble over some _land_?"

The others in the room fell quiet as Alistair's voice rose. Nervous glances were exchanged in the sudden silence. Eamon cleared his throat and bent his head towards Alistair, speaking in a low voice.

"Alistair," he began, "I know you're upset, but you-"

"You know _nothing_!"

"Listen to me!" Eamon grabbed Alistair's shoulder. "You're right, I don't know how you feel. I hope I never have to. But the fact remains that you're the _king_. The country and your duties do not just grind to a halt because something bad happens. How you feel doesn't mean anything when it comes to your responsibilities to Ferelden."

Alistair glared pointedly at Eamon's hand until the older man dropped his arm. "I'm not telling you not to worry about Lya. I would never do that. You should do that—I would hardly expect anything else. But there's not much you can do about it personally and we can't afford a repeat of what happened with Maric when Rowan died. For two years he was lost in his grief and Ferelden and her people were poorer for it.

"He eventually came out of it, but I don't want to see you making the same mistakes. There are those who'll seek to exploit what they see as weakness right now and you mustn't let them."

Grinding his teeth together, and with hands fisted on top of his desk, Alistair tried to see Eamon's point. A cool hand touched the back of his neck and he looked to see Wynne's blue-gray eyes regarding him calmly. A flow of magic washed over him, his tiredness sliding away. He tried to shrug her hand off.

"Wynne, don't. You shouldn't use your magic for this."

Her hand clamped down on his neck in a surprisingly strong grip. "Be still, Alistair. My magic is my own to use as I see fit and no one, not even you, is going to tell me how to use it." She smiled. "You're tired and worried. We need you, Alistair. Believe me, this is best use for my magic right now." Her spell continued to work through him as she talked and when she finally removed her hand, he had to admit he felt better. His mind was clear, unclouded by weariness, and he was alert.

"Now," she continued, "you need to eat." Looking pointedly at everyone else, she added, "I think that might be helpful for everyone. Food will be here shortly. I expect all of you to take of yourselves."

A chorus of "yeses" followed her thinly veiled warning. Wynne turned back to Eamon. "I expect General Bredon to be here shortly. While he and Alistair discuss matters, why don't you gather what you'll need Alistair to look at?"

Pursing his lips for a moment, Eamon nodded and left.

"You're mothering me, Wynne," Alistair muttered as he sat down.

"Well, someone certainly needs to." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Honestly, dear, when I think back to when we traveled together, I sometimes wonder how you manage on your own."

He managed a half-hearted chuckle. "Well, it's not like I've been completely on my own. I've always had…." His voice trailed off and his lips twisted.

"I know, Alistair, I know. And I won't have Lya returning to find I let her husband neglect himself in her absence." There was a knock at the door and it swung open to admit General Bredon. Wynne gave Alistair one last pat on the shoulder and started to move away.

Catching her hand before she could go, Alistair said quietly, "I'm glad you're here, Wynne." Her only reply was a firm squeeze of her hand.

* * *

Alistair was grateful to Eamon. As difficult as it was to concentrate, to focus on mundane matters while his mind was screaming at him to _something_, to _fix_ what was wrong, it was better than having nothing to do. If there wasn't anything to keep him occupied, he was pretty sure he would have lost it.

He also drove Zevran to distraction within a few days. Every time someone came to the door, or Zevran returned from checking on something, Alistair would ask if he had any news. Frustrated, Zevran finally grabbed Alistair when he had a few moments alone.

"Alistair, as soon as I find anything, I swear you will be the first person to know. But you need to let me do my job. It makes it very difficult to concentrate when I have you asking if I've found something every hour."

"You're right. I'm sorry. But this is killing me, Zev. I need to know something."

Zevran nodded in understanding. "I know you do, my friend, but unfortunately I have nothing to give you. I will be honest with you, Alistair. I don't know how much we're going to find. I suspect Lya is no longer in Ferelden, but we still have to look for and follow up on any leads we find, just in case we're wrong.

"Ideally, I'd like to send some people out of Ferelden to look, but that means less eyes and ears here. They also do not know the rest of Thedas as well. It is times like this I miss the Crows. Whatever their faults, and believe me there are many, they were efficient."

He grimaced. "I wish Leliana were here. I'm an assassin, Alistair, not a spy. Though I've done my best, I fear my deficiencies in this area make me more a hindrance than a help. Our lovely bard would be far more suited to finding information abroad."

"Except we don't know where she is." Alistair frowned, thinking. "That's what Lya was looking into when…. We found the letters in the desk. She wanted to send someone to Orzammar to ask the Legion of the Dead if they knew where she had gone."

"I can send someone. One person going won't hinder me. And if it leads us to Leliana, it would be helpful."

"Do it."

Zevran nodded and turned to go, but he turned back. "Alistair? When you went to Weisshaupt, you left certain documents in my possession. I still have them. Should we not consider using something similar now?"

For one terrible moment, Alistair imagined what Osric's reaction would be if they did that. He shook his head violently. "No! At the time I thought it would have protected Lya, and the threat of it may have stayed his hand then. But if he's behind this, I can't make myself believe that he's not, he'll take it as an act of hostility. And if he does have Lya…."

"I understand. You wish I should destroy the documents then, just to be on the safe side?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall do that immediately. And our messenger to Orzammar will be dispatched shortly."

The routine they set up continued and became normal. Alistair would begin his day, for he was sleeping at night now thanks to Wynne, being briefed by Zevran. Eamon would have whatever needed his attention that day ready for him.

A good part of his day would also be spent with Duncan and Elwyn. It was both an odd comfort and ache to be around them. Their presence was comforting, but also served as a poignant reminder of exactly what was missing.

And in the evening, a week after Lya disappeared, Fergus Cousland arrived.

The teyrn was immediately escorted to Alistair, and upon his grim-faced entry into the room, everyone else immediately began filing out. Shayelyn looked at Alistair questioningly, and when he nodded, she and Liadan also took the twins with them. Alistair watched them go, not meeting Fergus's eyes until the door clicked shut behind the last person.

"What happened?"

As best he could, Alistair related what had happened in the last week. He included every detail he could think of. Hiding or keeping things from Fergus was inconceivable. Lya's brother didn't say much as he explained, interrupting only to ask an occasional question. When he was done, Fergus didn't say anything. He just looked at Alistair, brows drawn together in a frown.

Guilt forced Alistair to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Fergus. So damn sorry. I-"

"Alistair, don't." Fergus crossed the room. "Do not apologize to me. You've done nothing wrong. Lya is my sister, but she's your _wife_. I know you'd never do anything to harm her, so don't you dare blame yourself for something you didn't do.

"I'll help as I can. We can talk with Eamon in the morning and figure out what you want me to do. In the meantime, I brought a contingent of Highever's knights with me. With your permission, I'd feel better if they took over guard duties. It might be provincial of us, but we're a little clannish up in Highever. Lya will always be a Cousland to them, and so are her children. My knights will defend them with their lives.

"Dara's also coming down with Nate. She wants to help take care of Duncan and Elwyn and she figures it'll take that worry off your mind."

"You'd risk having her come here?"

"Honestly, Alistair, at the moment, I doubt there's a safer place in all of Ferelden. Besides," he grinned wryly, "we've both managed to marry _incredibly_ stubborn women. The only way to keep her in Highever would have been to chain her to the castle, and even then she probably would have just dragged it with her. We both want to be here."

Fergus's grin slipped and he gave Alistair a long, searching look. "How are you doing?"

Alistair had always gotten along well with Fergus. Every time the Couslands came to a Landsmeet, or he and Lya visited Highever, it had been nice to just be around someone who treated him like a brother. And now to have Fergus not only _not_ blame him for what happened to Lya, but to be completely behind him and concerned for him sapped the last bit of control he had.

His eyes burned and his throat worked convulsively as he tried to swallow past the lump in it to find something to tell Fergus. And then all the worry and fear of the last week crashed in on him and he found himself shaking as Fergus gripped his shoulders tightly.

When he was finally still, Fergus let him sit down into a chair and pulled another up along side him. Alistair scrubbed a frustrated hand across his face. He couldn't afford to do this. "I'm sorry, I…."

"Don't. Just let it out." There was a pained look on Fergus's face. "Trust me, I know. Do you spar?"

The change in thought was a little too quick for Alistair at the moment. "What?"

"Do you spar?"

"Not lately. Why?"

"Then we should. It…helps. Bashing things around for awhile keeps you sane."

Alistair nodded. He couldn't imagine what it had been like for Fergus to have his wife and son murdered. If he had survived that, come through it sane and whole, then Alistair could make it through this.

He rose and grasped Fergus's arm in unspoken thanks. "Let's get you and your men settled."


	42. Chapter 41

I hate struggling with stuff, and thusly I hate this chapter. Thankfully the next sections are coming along nicely.

* * *

**Chapter 41**

Days turned into weeks and weeks into first one month, then two, as they settled into an uneasy new pattern. The changes Lya's absence wrought were keenly felt in all aspects of life at the palace. Zevran, being involved in nearly all aspects of it, saw them all.

News of Lya's disappearance had finally spread through the Bannorn. By now, everyone knew that _something_ had happened, and even if the exact details, as scanty as they were, were kept hidden, rumor and speculation still ran rampant. Everyone had a different theory, and the more time that passed without any word from the Crown, the darker those murmurings had become. The first couple of times anyone had dared ask where the queen was in a public audience with the king, Alistair had them thrown out. They hadn't brought it up again in his presence.

The nobility was also rapidly finding out how little patience Alistair had with their petty wrangling in court. In the past, when arguing had gotten heated or out of control, Alistair had been able to diffuse the situation with a quip or joking reprove. Now he ignored them, waiting in ominous silence for them to fall silent. His decisions were often abrupt, and while still fair, were not accompanied by the usual attempts are making peace between the parties.

Life inside the palace also changed. By now, most of the Royal Guard had been released and returned to active duty. Fergus's knights, however, remained as the immediate protection of the royal family. Dara had come from Highever with her son, and now she and Liadan were responsible for the care of all three children. The twins responded well to another mothering influence and had adapted well to the change.

Stretching, Zevran tossed back the last of the brandy in his glass and stood. He had taken to joining Alistair and Fergus when they sparred and his shoulder still ached from today's session. He would probably need to see Shayelyn about it. Training with Alistair had become…difficult.

That thought brought home the darker changes in Alistair. Zevran had always known Alistair to be a fairly laid-back, jocular person. There were things he got upset about, but he was never one to let anything really get him down for long. But now? Now Zevran was seeing a completely different side of him.

The humorous, easy-going fellow was gone, replaced by a gaunt-eyed stranger. He was quiet, short of temper—hard, for lack of a better word. As each passing day brought only silence, Alistair grew a little grimmer and more withdrawn. Zevran and the others were watching the hope die in him and there was nothing they could do to stop it. He had even stopped saying Lya's name. It was as if Alistair was trying to prepare himself for the worst, trying to come to terms with Lya being gone for good, and it was breaking him.

Zevran's agents had run themselves ragged trying to find any information and still nothing. That troubled all of them. They had had no news of Lya. No ransom note, no list of demands, nothing. The point of kidnapping someone was to get something in return, but Osric, and Zevran shared Alistair's belief the Warden's were behind it, had asked for nothing. He wondered if it might not have been kinder if the Wardens had simply had Lya assassinated. At least then Alistair would have a body. He ignored the twinge of guilt that that thought brought.

He walked the quiet halls towards Alistair's rooms. His dwarven agent had finally returned from Orzammar and Zevran was not pleased with the news he brought with him. Nodding to the knights, he slipped inside.

Alistair sat slumped in a chair, watching Duncan and Elwyn playing with Golanth on the floor. The dog, for all his size, was incredibly gentle with them. They laughed and giggled and rolled around. "They've gotten used to it so quickly," he whispered sadly.

Dara's head came up sharply. "I'm sorry, Alistair, what did you say?"

He looked at her, his eyes dark with pain. "She's only been gone two months, but they don't even ask about her very much anymore. It's like they don't remember what it was like with her here."

She handed Nate to Fergus who was sitting next to her, and crossed the room to kneel beside Alistair, her hand gripping his shoulder gently. "Children are…adaptable," she said slowly. "Whatever is routine becomes normal for them."

He nodded. "Will they even remember her?"

She looked up past Alistair to meet Zevran's eyes helplessly. Taking a deep breath, she spoke quietly, choosing her words carefully. "They _are_ very young, Alistair. They might keep a memory or two, but…. No, I don't think they'll remember her." His face twisted in grief and he covered his eyes with his hand.

"Golanth," she called softly as she stood and the mabari swiveled his head towards her. Picking up Duncan, and gesturing for Liadan to take Elwyn, she said, "Come, let's put the children to bed." The hound got to his feet and padded out silently after the women. She returned moments later to take Nate from Fergus, giving him a sad look as he kissed her cheek, and quietly closing the door behind her.

"What do you want, Zevran?"

With a sigh, Zevran turned back to Alistair. His friend continued to sit in his chair, staring into the flames. "I have…news, of a sort, about Leliana." Alistair gestured for him to sit and continue. "As it turns out, Leliana did leave Orzammar over a year ago, but she was heading for Orlais. She didn't tell any of the Legion where exactly she was going or why, but they haven't heard from her since she left. My man went further west, towards Jader, but found nothing."

Alistair nodded. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know." Zevran shrugged. "We can hope nothing terrible befell her, but Leliana is not the type to simply disappear without a word to her friends."

"No, she's not." Alistair passes a weary hand over his face. "I wish…I wish I could feel worse about that, but…. If you find out anything else, Zevran, let me know, but I just want to be alone right now."

Rising from his seat, Fergus nodded. "I'll see you in the morning, Alistair." There was no response and Fergus's lips tightened as he and Zevran left. "I don't like this, Zevran," he said once they were in the hallway.

"You're not the only one. Is this very different from what happened with you and Highever?"

From the look Fergus gave him, Zevran knew the teyrn didn't appreciate the question. "Yes, it's different. With Highever, I had to deal with something that happened and move on. There was no question, no doubt. It was awful, but I least I had closure. Alistair doesn't even have that." Fergus frowned. "For me, each day made life a little better, made it easier to cope and move on. For Alistair, his pain is dragged out. There's just no end to it. I don't know how long he can keep it up."

"So what do we do?"

They stopped outside the suite reserved for Fergus when he came. "Nothing," Fergus replied. "There's nothing we can do. We watch and wait and try to catch him when he falls."

"Your Majesty, there are Wardens here to see you."

Alistair looked up and motioned for the guard to allow them in. The man nodded and stepped back, allowing the Wardens waiting outside entrance.

"Oghren? Anders?" Alistair rose, coming around the desk towards them. "What are you doing here?"

"Howe thought we needed to take a little…holiday." Oghren looked back over his shoulder, and leaned over to firmly shut the door in the guard's face. "So I packed up Felsi and the nugget, pretty boy packed up all his dresses, and here we are."

"Oghren was poisoned," Anders added.

Shock widened Alistair's eyes as he looked at the dwarf. "Poisoned? Are you all right? Do you know who it was?"

"Bah," Oghren muttered, "I'm fine. The mage exaggerates. I knew something was off with that wine. Too fruity. I didn't drink that much."

"Andraste's knickers, you drank enough that you were blue in the face when I found you. If you had drunk much more you would be dead, Oghren." With a disgusted sigh, he looked at Alistair. "Nathaniel thinks it's far safer for us to be away from the Vigil. We stirred up a lot of trouble, which was the point, but Delano's had enough. Given what happened to Oghren, I'm inclined to agree. _He_," Anders jerked a thumb at Oghren, "might not mind returning to the Stone, but I happen to enjoy living and having all my part intact. So here we are."

"I'm glad you're all right. I'll have Eamon find you somewhere to stay."

"Any word yet on your wife?"

"Andraste's ass, dwarf! Have you no tact?" Anders hissed at Oghren.

Alistair cleared his throat. "No, Oghren, we haven't heard anything."

"Eh? Really? She must be behaving herself, then." He slapped Alistair on the back. "I wouldn't worry too much. That woman is scary when she needs to be. She'll be fine." When the two men just looked at him, he shrugged. "Fine, don't believe me. You'll see. Now, I'm off to go find something to drink. Either of you care to join me?"

"You go on ahead, Oghren. I want to talk to Alistair for a minute."

"Suit yourself." He looked at Alistair again. "You mind if I move Fels and the nugget into the palace, too? I'd kinda like to have them close by."

"That's fine Oghren."

"Excellent! See you boys later."

Anders waited until the door was closed before speaking. "The Wardens have Lya."

Alistair's reaction was instantaneous. He grabbed Anders's arm in a vice-like grip and leaned close. "You know this? For certain?"

"We can't prove it. When she first disappeared, the Wardens at the Vigil seemed just as confused as the rest of us. But in the last couple of weeks, Delano's been…gloating. Sort of. Nothing specific, nothing overt, just this general tone of 'I know something you don't know' and this annoying little smirk whenever he sees one of us.

"That was another reason for getting us out of the Vigil. Nate didn't want to risk sending anyone else to let you know. I wish we had more to tell you," he spread his hands, "but there it is. We thought you should know, in case someone tries spring it on you as some sort of nasty surprise."

"Thank you, Anders. We should…get you settled in."

"Don't bother, I can find my own way. You should get back to doing whatever kingly things you were doing."

Sagging into a nearby chair, Alistair took a deep breath. It didn't change anything. There was still no way to turn the information into anything useful. But maybe with this they could stop trying to spread their resources out to cover everything and instead focus them where they would be more useful. He would have to talk to Zevran.

The information Anders and Oghren brought helped a little. Zevran decided to send Daevanya to Vigil's Keep to do a little snooping. Hopefully she would be able to dig up more information.

With that out of his hands, Alistair forced himself to focus. Spring had just begun and before long the Landsmeet would arrive. Already, members of the Bannorn, though who either could afford to leave their lands, or who didn't care to personally oversee things, had started to arrive. The near constant meetings with nobles that preceded the Landsmeet had begun. He knew that Eamon's previous warning, that there would be those who tried to take advantage of Lya's absence, would be even more crucial now.

And he didn't need Eamon's advice to know he had to reign in his temper, that in the larger stage of the Landsmeet he had to put aside those feelings and _do his job_. So he threw himself into his work, these meetings with the Bannorn, using them both as a distraction from the emptiness he felt without her beside him and a confirmation of what she had always seen in him. Knowing he could do it alone was cold comfort, one he could have gladly gone without.

It was during one of these meetings that Eamon came in, beckoning almost frantically. Alistair dismissed the nobles and followed Eamon to a small private waiting room. He didn't like the way Eamon look; the former arl was unsettled in a way Alistair had never seen—not during the Blight, not during the showdown with Loghain, not before his trip to Weisshaupt or when Lya disappeared.

A messenger was waiting for them. He turned and bowed as they entered.

"Your Majesty, I come bearing grave news: Orlesian forces were spotted entering Ferelden and passing through Gherlen's Pass. They've begun making their way south, and appear to be heading towards Redcliffe."

"Do you know how many?"

"At least a legion, almost certainly more. I didn't stay and wait for a count, not when it was so important you be warned. There should be others following me."

"Good man. You have my thanks. Wait outside for now. I have more questions for you." The messenger bowed again as he backed out of the door.

Mentally figuring distances in his head, Alistair realized there was no way to get reinforcements to Redcliffe in time to render aid. And Redcliffe's forces wouldn't be able to hold the Orlesians off, not if there were as many as the rider had said, and most definitely not in open combat. He looked at Eamon's drawn face. "We can't get forces there before the Orlesians arrive, Eamon. Teagan must know that. What do you think he will do?"

"He…. My brother will do what he feels is right. He will not surrender Redcliffe, nor will he abandon his people. I'm certain he will offer sanctuary to the villagers, but given how Redcliffe has grown…. I don't know how long his supplies can last."

Alistair only nodded. "We'll need to inform the Bannorn. We're going to need their men, and quickly, if we're to get help to Teagan before the situation grows too desperate."


	43. Chapter 42

I have been grievously remiss in the last few chapters and have forgotten to thank Xandurpein. He has been absolutely wonderful in agreeing to go over my work and help me think like a guy in order to make sure characters ring true. He's also allowed me to pick his lovely mind for accuracy on historical military information, in the hopes that these parts of the story will be more true and accurate than I could have done on my own. Thank you, Xandur!

I also wanted to say that I love, love, love reviews. They provide me with feedback and help me tweak characters. It makes me giddy when I open my email and see a review alert. And while the last thing I would ever want to do is sound ungrateful, if you're going to review multiple chapters, I ask that you condense them into one or two reviews. I don't want to seem like I'm trying to artificially inflate review numbers and I don't want other reviews to be pushed down and missed because of it. So thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to take a few minutes and review, and thank you for understanding.

Note: In this chapter, and for the rest of the story, I have arbitrarily decided to make 1 legion = 2,000 troops. This is to make it easier for me when discussing numbers and you should know so that you're not confused as you read.

Note 2: Chapter replaced because I forgot a stupid line break. *mutters*

* * *

**Chapter 42**

Osric sat at the table within his tent, waiting. Before him were two sealed letters, each awaiting the arrival of the messenger who would bring them to their destination. He heard footsteps outside and then the tent flap opened to admit two chevaliers dragging a third figure, bound and hooded, between them. They unceremoniously dumped her on the ground, whisking the cloth bag that covered her head off, leaving her hands bound behind her back.

"Gently, gentlemen, gently. She is our guest. No need for such harsh treatment when we're all civilized." He gestured wordlessly and chevaliers turned and left. Osric rose from his seat, coming around the table to inspect the figure kneeling before him.

She looked up at him defiantly, blue eyes flashing hate. Her long, red hair was bound in a simple plait down her back, and while she was pale, she appeared healthy—well-fed and uninjured. This was very good. He had trusted Celene to keep her word that the bard would be kept in good condition, but it was always gratifying to see orders carried out properly.

Her posture, even in her prone position, was proud. Even after imprisonment for over a year, she remained strong in spirit. That would serve him well. He watched as she surreptitiously looked around, taking in her environment. Her eyes narrowed as she sought to figure out her surroundings.

He smiled indulgently. "Leliana, yes? Welcome."

"Welcome? Where am I? Who are you?"

"Right now, we're in the charming little village of Redcliffe. And my name is Osric. I'm a Grey Warden. The First Warden, actually, but that has little bearing on our meeting. I'm sure you have a great many more questions, but unfortunately I cannot answer them for you. I apologize for your confinement, but it was necessary. I trust you were treated well? If not, please, let me know and I will make sure the offending parties are dealt with."

"You apologize? For arresting me and holding me for months? Why? What reason could a Grey Warden have to arrest me?"

"You were poking your nose into matters you had no business looking in to. I could have simply had you killed, but I thought I might be able to use you. As it turns out, I can."

"You are mistaken if you think I'll do anything for you. Whatever it is you want, I refuse."

"You might wish to rethink that position," Osric said softly. "That is, if you want to help your friend."

Leliana went very still. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Osric turned back to the table, picking up one of the envelopes. "You're quite good friends with Lya, yes? Very nearly sisters from what my sources tell me. If you care for her at all, I think you might want to do as I ask."

"If I care for her? What do you mean? What have you done with her?" she whispered in horror.

He waved a hand, dismissing her questions. "That doesn't truly matter. Suffice it to say, her life may rest on your ability to follow orders. I need you to bring this," he held up the envelope, "to Alistair in Denerim. You will be provided with a horse, supplies and some money to ensure that you arrive there swiftly and safely."

"And then?"

"And then what?" He raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to hold some dire threat over your head, some terrible repercussion to make you behave?" He laughed gently. "No, dear girl, none of that. Your own conscience will ensure your compliance. And after your task is accomplished, you are free to do as you wish."

"And if I do not do as you ask?"

"If you do not, you jeopardize your friend's life. I will simply send another in your place, but I cannot guarantee their competence, nor that they would even be able to get to Alistair. After all, he trusts you. You should have no trouble meeting with him. As for you if you don't do this, why, I would have no reason to keep you around anymore. But I would also have no reason to keep you safe. I could let you go or I could turn you over to the chevaliers." She shuddered slightly at that suggestion. "I can see you don't care for that possibility. I wouldn't either, were I you."

Osric held the letter aloft once more. "This is all I ask: Deliver this to Alistair in Denerim, swiftly and unopened. Will you do it?"

Doubt and indecision crossed her face before her shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. "I don't know what your goal is, but I will do as you ask. But if you've done anything to hurt Lya—"

"If I have, this will be your only opportunity to help her. Remember that and spare me your meaningless threats." He drew a dagger and moved behind her to cut her bonds. He offered her his hand to rise, but she ignored it, rubbing her wrists as she got to her feet. Shrugging and replacing his dagger, he held the tent flap open, speaking to one of the chevaliers outside as he gestured for Leliana to precede him.

They made their way towards the outskirts of the camp. Osric deliberately chose a course to maximize the number of soldiers she would see. Leliana's eyes darted around, concern etched on her face as she observed the chevaliers everywhere. Once at the perimeter, a horse, saddled and loaded with supplies, was waiting and he handed her the envelope.

"You should have everything you need here. There's armor and a set of daggers in the saddlebags. I would hate for you to have no way to protect yourself on your journey. There are some supplies and some gold to ensure you'll be able to obtain anything else you might need. Any last questions?"

"No." She shook her head and swung easily into the saddle. "You will regret whatever you have done, Osric."

"You are not the first to tell me that nor will you be the last. Yet I am still here while those who have opposed me are nothing more than dust. Remember that." Her lips twisted, and then she turned the horse, laying her heels into its flanks and cantering out of the village of Redcliffe.

Osric watched her go, waiting until she could not longer be seen before turning back to the camp. She would do as she was bid, of that he had no doubt. Now, all he had to do was send his second messenger back to Gwaren and wait. Time would reveal which course was the best to take.

* * *

Standing over the map spread across the table, Alistair ground his teeth in frustration. Word had gone out the Bannorn to gather men and supplies, but it would be weeks yet before everything was ready. They had to wait for word to spread to every arling and bannorn, wait for men to gather and be equipped, wait for supplies to be gathered, wait for those supplies to be brought to more strategic locations along roads and in the Bannorn. And every hour, every day they had to wait was one more day Teagan and his people spent trapped in Redcliffe.

Mobilizing an army to fight an invading country was a logistical nightmare. While Alistair had studied more in-depth military strategy and planning since taking the throne, nothing he had ever done prepared him for this. He was relying heavily on Eamon, Fergus and his commanders, and they assured him he was doing fine, but it felt like he was learning too little, too slowly.

Some more riders had arrived from Redcliffe, bearing more definite troops numbers. The information was grim. These early reports put Orlesian numbers at roughly two legions of chevaliers and all of their support troops, with the possibility of more coming over from Orlais.

Eamon, knowing Redcliffe best, judged that the Orlesians would be able to support themselves on the surrounding country side for a few weeks. That would allow them to save their own supplies for the time being, to be used when they eventually mobilized to move further into Ferelden. Once resources around Redcliffe were exhausted, they would need to move in search of more.

Alistair had dispatched a small group of scouts on fast horses to find out more definite numbers and report any movements they made. Other riders were sent to watch Gherlen's Pass and observe if more troops and supplies were coming through.

If the Orlesians were bringing large amounts of supplies into Ferelden, they could afford to move more slowly, solidifying their hold as they advanced. If not, they would be forced to continually move and forage. If that were the case, then the Fereldans might be able to inflict casualties using hit-and-run tactics.

Whatever Alistair chose to do, he had to keep his forces from meeting the Orlesians in the open, especially on flat ground. On terrain like that, the Orlesians would have an undeniable advantage. It would be disastrous for his forces if they fought like that.

As much as he hated the way it had to be done, he had to preserve his numbers. And that meant allowing the Orlesians to take land, hopefully draw themselves out and open up weaknesses to be exploited. If that didn't work, they would have to find the most defensible locations and wait for the Orlesians to come to them. With their horses, they wouldn't be able to stay too long in any one location. Nor could they afford to just leave an army unchallenged. They would have to seek out Alistair's forces, on terrain that would give him the advantage.

It was going to be like a damned game, each side moving their pieces upon the board as they struggled to outthink and outmaneuver the other. Only here, the pieces were people, living, breathing men and women with homes and families and lives. And the game board was his country.

Alistair wondered how his father had done it.

A knight entered the large conference room that they spent most of their time in, maps and missives spread over tables. He looked around and beckoned to Zevran urgently. As the elf followed him out, Alistair wondered what new disaster had befallen them.

Zevran came slamming back into the room a scant two minutes later. "Alistair!"

Alistair's head snapped up, a chill running down his spine at the alarm in Zevran's voice. He started to move around the table as Zevran began shooing people from the room. "What's going on?"

"I believe I can answer that, Alistair."

Shocked, Alistair turned towards the door. "_Leliana_?"

The bard entered the room, looking only somewhat like Alistair remembered her. Her hair was longer and was a little thinner, her face drawn and tired with dark circles under her eyes. Her eyes seemed unbearably sad and worried.

He went to her immediately, pulling her into a hug. "Maker, Leliana, where have you been? We've been worried about you."

She returned his hug, fiercely. "Where I have been is both a very long and very short story, but now is not the time to tell it, Alistair. I…I have something for you."

Leliana waited until the last of the people Zevran asked to leave had gone, the door closed behind him. In the room, only he, Zevran, Fergus, Wynne, Eamon and Kaden were still present. She shifted the satchel slung over her shoulder and reached into it, withdrawing a sealed envelope. She held it out to Alistair.

He looked at the parchment, not wanting to take it. There was something terrible in Leliana's face that told him whatever was inside was not something he wanted to see. With a trembling hand, he took it from her.

There was no writing on the envelope. And turning it over, he saw it was sealed with that damnable gray wax and griffon insignia. Through the heavy parchment, he could feel something else inside, keeping the letter from being entirely flat. With a quick jerk, he broke the seal and tipped the envelope, letting whatever was inside fall into his hand.

It was fortunate he was near a chair when he did. As soon as the ring slid onto his palm, he knew what it was and his legs gave out. He sat down, hard, a horrified gasp escaping him.

"Alistair!"

He heard his name called by several voices, but could not answer them. Someone approached, came close, and he held up the hand with the letter to keep them back. All of his attention was riveted on the gleaming band of silver in his hand, a smaller match to the one he wore. He closed his hand in a fist around, feeling it dig into his skin, welcoming the sensation. Gathering himself with first one deep breath and then another, he turned his attention to the letter.

Keeping his hand closed around Lya's ring, he ripped the envelope off and unfolded the letter in a savage motion. He read quickly, desperately.

No. Oh, please, Maker, no.

Those stupid, ill-chosen words from that night in the chantry rushed back, mocking him.

_Please bring her back…._

_I'll do anything…._

He tried to contain the hysterical laugh that welled up in him—tried and failed. His hand closed around the parchment, crumpling it.

"Alistair?" Fergus asked. "What is it?"

Alistair shoved the parchment towards Fergus. He couldn't have forced any words past his throat right at that moment if his life depended on it. Fergus took the letter from him, smoothing it before reading the contents himself. Alistair clearly heard the startled exclamation Fergus made. When the silence dragged on and Fergus did nothing further, Alistair looked up at his brother.

The horrified look Fergus was giving him didn't help. The others in the room shifted restlessly, tension rising. "Well, what is it?" Wynne finally burst out. "What's happened?"

Fergus looked over and Alistair just nodded. The others needed to be told, but he couldn't do it. Reading and hearing the contents was bad enough. But to speak them himself? No.

Lya's brother took a deep breath and read the letter out loud.

_Alistair,_

_I am going to dispense with needless pleasantries. Such trivialities are beyond us at this point, so let me get right to the point._

_As you have by now no doubt guessed, Lya is currently a guest of the Grey Wardens at Weisshaupt. Allow me to reassure you that she has been well cared for and is in perfect health. I send her ring as a token of proof, and return your friend to you as a gesture of good faith._

_You now have a choice. You can gather your armies and fight the enemy you now find upon your land, losing countless good men and harming your lands. Or you can seek a peaceful resolution. Think about it carefully. Your country and your people have barely begun to recover from the ravages of the Blight. Darkspawn still prey upon the innocent. An unnecessary war would only harm your people further. I am confident that you are a good enough king not to subject your people to further depredations._

_You seem to be a good and honest ruler, but we both know your judgment has been extremely questionable in the past. You have a chance to correct the grave errors you've made. My terms are quite simple and not particularly onerous:_

_The Arling of Amaranthine will remain under complete, autonomous Warden control. A Grey Warden advisor will be appointed to help the Crown in any matters that relate to Grey Wardens. You will be free to govern your own people as you wish, but certain international negotiations will have to meet with Grey Warden approval. _

_Agree to these few terms and the Orlesians will go home, your people will be spared and you will retain your throne. Your family will be safe. Lya will be returned to you. I have no desire to keep you apart, and, indeed, I feel we would all benefit were she back at your side._

_However, if you do not agree, then I shall have no choice but to correct your mistakes by force. I have no desire to do this. People you care about will get hurt. Also, sadly, Lya would also no longer serve any purpose in that case. Her death would be regrettable, but necessary._

_Please, consider your options carefully. Working together, Ferelden and the Grey Wardens could do much good for the people of Thedas. When you have decided, my forces will honor a banner of parley, and any messenger arriving under it will be guaranteed their safety. I urge you to decide quickly—this offer will not remain open for long._

_Osric_

_First Warden_

Stunned silence greeted Fergus as he finished. Alistair could feel every eye fixed upon him as he sat with the fist that held Lya's ring pressed to his mouth. Then Leliana sniffed and Wynne murmured, "Oh, my poor dears."

"He can't!" Zevran said in a low voice. "He can't let—"

"Enough, Zevran." Fergus's voice was quiet, but commanding. "Leave, now." When no one moved, he repeated himself. "All of you leave. Now."

The others turned, moving slowly towards to door. Their reluctance was a palpable thing, and though he knew it was out of concern, Alistair was grateful for Fergus making them leave. Zevran protested once more, but Fergus overrode him, muttering something too quiet for Alistair to hear. When the door finally shut, Alistair looked up. Fergus was watching him, and he could see the same starkness in his brother's eyes that he knew must be in his own.


	44. Chapter 43

Shorter chapter today, but it really deserves to be on it's own. This scene has been in my head for months and I am very much glad that it's finally arrived. I hope it comes across the way I intend it.

Enjoy. Might I suggest tissues?

* * *

**Chapter 43**

Was it the Maker's cruel sense of humor to offer Alistair an answer to his prayers in the only way Alistair couldn't accept? He had meant the words when he said them—thought he meant them. For himself, he would have paid any price, but this….

As desperately as his mind searched, he couldn't find a way out of this. He couldn't turn Ferelden over to Osric's machinations. Doing so would be a betrayal on so many levels. But if he didn't, Osric would…. Lya would….

He stood up quickly and walked to the window, bracing his hands on the frame and letting his head hang down. "What am I going to do? Maker help me, what am I going to do?"

"What you have to, Alistair."

At Fergus's quiet words, Alistair turned. Fergus was grim, standing quietly. Alistair could see the worry in his face, but there was also a sad resolution—the quiet stoicism of a man who has come to terms with something tragic.

"Do you know what you're suggesting?"

"Yes, I do."

"If I don't do what he asks, he'll…." Alistair swallowed. "He'll kill her."

"I know."

"She's your _sister_!" The words exploded out of him. "Are you really going to stand there and tell me to kill her?"

Alistair knew his sudden rage wasn't really directed at Fergus. In his years on the throne, he had grown into his responsibilities, learning to balance his compassion with duty. It was hard, sometimes, to let the logical, calculating part of him win out over the softer side, even when he knew it was the best thing to do for the most people. He didn't want to be that ruler who valued cold, hard logic above all else and let it dictate his actions. He worked hard to make sure that wasn't the case.

But it was still a part of him, and as soon as the situation was revealed to him, he had begun, instinctively, to analyze it. Mentally, he placed Lya's life on a set of scales balanced against everything else, every other duty and obligation he had. Against what he owed to his people and his country, his family and his friends, how could the scales possibly tip in her favor?

Inside, he knew he didn't really have a choice, that there was only one outcome to this situation, and the part of him that was the Alistair that Lya had first met screamed in his head to _save her_. Do anything, promise anything, give anything, just _save her_. Save her the same way she has always saved everyone else, the same way she would have done for him.

Fergus continued to stand, hands clasped behind his back. He blinked and Alistair could see the glint, the glimmer of wetness in his eyes. "I'm not telling you to kill her, Alistair. I'm not telling you to do anything. But we both know what you have to do."

Alistair slumped against the casement. "I can't do this," he said weakly. "I just…I can't…."

Fergus just nodded, blinking again rapidly and looking away. Alistair saw the muscles in his throat work. After licking his lips and taking a deep breath, Fergus looked back at him.

"Do you know what our father told me when she was born? He said big brothers were born first so they can protect their little sisters. I took those words to heart." He laughed quietly. "The first time I held her, she was so tiny I was scared to death I was going to break her and be a terrible big brother for not doing my job."

He smiled. "I did my best while she was growing up to keep being that big brother to her. She made it hard sometimes. She was so _stubborn_ and half the time I wanted to give her a good whack for being so annoying. And then she'd fall and skin her knees, or bark her knuckles on a practice sword, and I'd be the protective big brother again, doing something foolish to make her smile and laugh instead of cry.

"During the Blight, when I learned she was alive, that my little sister had not only survived Highever, but grown to become something incredible, there are no words to describe how I felt. It's like I'd been given a second chance to be what I was supposed to, to try again and not fail at protecting my family this time, though she hardly needed it.

"The first time she introduced us, I wasn't sure what to think. I was prepared to threaten you, warn you that if you ever hurt her I would tear you apart with my bare hands." He shrugged. "And then I saw the two of you together, saw the way you looked at her and knew my fears were unfounded. You'd have cut off your own arms before you ever hurt her. It felt good knowing there was someone else who saw how special she was and would do anything to keep her safe.

"So, yes, she's my sister, and I would do anything to keep her safe. But she's also my queen. You know her, Alistair, maybe better than I ever did. You know exactly how seriously she takes her duties and what she would tell Osric to do with his 'offer.'"

Taking another deep, shuddering breath, Fergus came to stand next to Alistair, looking out the window at the city. "I can't protect her anymore." He met Alistair's eyes, his own gaze bleak. "_We_ can't protect her anymore. Our only choice now is to protect the things she loves: her family, her friends, her country."

Alistair looked away. He remembered how devastated Lya had been in the beginning when they first met, how he had learned to look past the façade she projected and see how hurt and scared she was. He remembered how she had finally let go after killing Howe. It must have been worse for Fergus—to lose your entire family, including your wife and child and being unable to anything about it. Fergus knew _exactly_ what this would cost Alistair. It was no idle suggestion from someone ignorant of the situation.

But even so, what Fergus had endured _was not_ the same. Fergus didn't have the chance to save them and deliberately turn away from them. Fergus didn't condemn his family to death. Alistair did and was. He could save Lya's life and _he wasn't going to do it_.

The guilt was overwhelming and oppressive. It threatened to swallow him whole. Every time he told her he loved her, every laugh, every smile, every touch—what did any of those ever mean if he did this now? He was going to let the woman he loved be killed. He might as well be holding the blade himself. However it came, her death was his choice.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end for them. They were supposed to grow older with one another and then face their Calling together. The loss of what they should've had was staggering—the years together, watching their family grow, simply enjoying some hard-earned peace, all lost. And Lya deserved a better end than this. She deserved to go out the way she had lived, as a warrior. Barring that, she at least deserved to meet her end in peace, not executed in a cell because the man who said he loved her refused to lift a hand to help her. His stomach threatened to rebel as the full acceptance of what he was going to do hit him.

"I'm never going to be able to forgive myself, Fergus."

"No," Fergus agreed, "and neither will I. We don't deserve to." A pause. "Will you send a message back to Osric?"

"No. Let him find out on his own. It'll give…." He left it unsaid. Not telling Osric would give Lya a few more days. Fergus just nodded in unspoken understanding.

Alistair felt something break somewhere inside his chest and a single, strangled sob escaped before he choked the rest back. Grief was a luxury for those who had something taken from them, not those who threw it away.

The two men stood in silence for a long time. Finally, Alistair collected himself. "Have the others come back in. We have a war to plan."


	45. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

There was a soft knock at the door and Alistair strode over to open it. He held the door for Wynne as she entered and looked at him curiously.

"You asked to see me, Alistair?"

"I did. I need to ask a favor of you, Wynne. A really big favor." He guided the elderly mage to a seat and leaned against his desk, facing her.

"Of course, dear, anything. What did you need?"

"I need you to go to the tower, Wynne."

"You wish to send me back to the tower? Now, of all times?"

"No." Alistair shook his head and sighed. "I'm going to need you back here, but I need you to go and see something for me." He looked into her gray eyes. "I need mages, Wynne. We need to even the odds, badly, and mages will let us do that. Except this time I have no treaties to compel their help. I need you to convince Irving to let any mages who want to help go with you, and to try and convince as many mages as you can to help us."

"Alistair…." He heard the hesitancy in her voice. "What you ask is no small thing. I don't know how successful I would be, even if I agreed to do it."

"You have to try, Wynne. Who else can I send that would be better then you? Tell me and I'll order it. I _need_ these mages, Wynne. My people are going to be slaughtered if I can't strike hard at the Orlesians and deal some devastating losses."

"Mages are people, Alistair, not weapons."

"Did you tell that to Cailan when he called for mages at Ostagar?" Alistair forced his tone to be cold, a small part of himself hating the cruelty in his words and tone. The widening of Wynne's eyes told him his words had found their mark. "Please, Wynne," he said, softening his tone, "help me."

She looked away from him and sighed quietly. When she looked back, he could see the pity in her eyes. "Very well, Alistair. I will see what I can do. I can't promise anything, but I will try."

"Thank you, Wynne." He stepped forward and leaned down to give her a hug, noticing not for the first time how frail she felt in his arms. When he stepped back, he saw the shadows behind her eyes, the tired lines of her face. This was probably asking too much of her. But he couldn't let that influence his decisions.

"Alistair?" she asked. "Do you want to talk about Lya?"

"No."

"Alistair, dear, I really think—"

"No, Wynne," he interrupted her softly. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I know it was hard for—"

"I don't want to talk about it." His voice remained soft, but there was a note of finality to it. Wynne looked sorrowful for a moment before nodding and smoothing her face into a neutral expression.

"As you wish. I will gather my things and make preparations to leave tomorrow."

"Thank you, Wynne."

He escorted her to the door, instructing the guards to make sure she had anything she needed and to arrange for an escort for her. After she had gone, he returned to his desk and sat down, cradling his head in his hands. He was so tired. When the next knock came, he didn't bother to get up, simply calling out for whoever it was to come in.

Zevran entered, closing the door behind him perhaps a bit harder than necessary. He stood before Alistair's desk, looking down at him with his arms folded across his chest. In the more than a week since Alistair's decision about Lya, Zevran hadn't spoken to him outside of anything necessary to do their jobs.

Alistair had heard the argument Zevran had had with Fergus, closed doors and long hallways not being enough to prevent him from hearing Zevran vigorously protesting the choice. Whatever Fergus said had stilled the elf's more vocal responses, but he had seethed with rage ever since. Short of being deaf and blind, there was no way Alistair could have failed to miss the cutting glares and bitten off words.

He ignored them. Worrying about Zevran's temper or opinion of him took energy he did not have, not did he find himself caring that much. It wasn't as if the assassin were wrong, after all. For now, Zevran would do his job.

"I'm sending you to Ostagar," he said without preamble. Zevran said nothing, merely continued to stare at him stone-faced. "I need you to ask the Dalish if they would be willing to help. You might want to impress upon them that if they refuse, and we fail, then there's a good chance they will lose their home yet again."

"Send someone else. I have more important things to do."

Alistair leaned back in his chair, looking at Zevran carefully. He had spoken, once and only once, about Rinna, and even then his tale had not been complete. But Zevran had said enough that Alistair knew this particular situation would strike at the lingering feelings of guilt Zevran carried from his time as a Crow.

"More important than helping me now?"

"I would help you if you let me. Ostagar is _not_ where I should be going. We both know this."

"I won't send you to die in a mission that can't succeed, Zevran, no matter how much either of us wants to. And if I can't trust you to do what needs to be done, then why are you here?"

That seemed to shock Zevran. His stance relaxed, arms falling to his sides and his mouth gaping open slightly. Then his jaw clicked shut with an audible snap. "So that would be it, would I? I would be relieved of my duties and sent on my way just like that? After everything I have done?"

"Yes, Zevran, just like that after everything you've done," Alistair said tiredly. "You would of course be entitled to a nice severance fee. Should I call the treasurer and have him fetch it?"

"You think I do this for _money_?" Zevran spat. "If this were about money, I could make far more by returning to my previous occupation. Yet I have stayed! And you think it has been because of the coin?"

"No, damn it, I don't…." He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment before continuing. "I'm sorry. I know it's not for the money," Alistair replied quietly. "You've done it for Lya—because you love her." He met the assassin's amber gaze with his own hazel one. "I'm not stupid. I know that everything you've done has been because of her. But she's not here anymore. And so if you can't keep doing your job without her here, then I need to know now so I can find someone to replace you."

"That…that isn't what I meant."

Alistair nodded. "I know. You can be as angry at me as you want, hate me as much as you want, and it still won't come close to what I feel for myself. So if you need to scream at me, hit me, whatever…that's fine. Just do your job."

Zevran looked away, the corners of his mouth pulling down. "She is my _friend_," he said finally. He gave a hollow, little laugh. "It is a word I used often before I learned what it really meant. Now that I do…. Doing this—leaving her to her death—makes me feel like I am back among the Crows, where one's life only had meaning if it could be used to further their goals. To…sacrifice…someone I…care about…to save myself does not sit well with me.

"But leaving, abandoning you and the others, would make me no better than the Crows or these Wardens. I'm sorry, Alistair, for my anger. You…." He took a deep breath. "You do not deserve it."

"Oh, I do." Alistair gave his friend a half-smile. "If it'll help, I can order you to be angry for the both of us."

Returning Alistair's mirthless smile, Zevran stepped up to the desk. "So you wish me to go to Ostagar and rouse the famous ire of the Dalish? And I suppose you wish me to see out Keeper Lanaya?"

"Yes, she knows us and out of all the Dalish would likely be the most willing to help us."

"And I should threaten them with the loss of their home if they do not?"

Alistair winced. "No, Zev, not threaten them. It's a real risk that they should be aware of."

"A risk that you intend to exploit. Do not be ashamed, Alistair. You are doing what you must, and I will do as you ask. Might I ask Leliana to accompany me?"

"If she wants to go, absolutely."

Zevran nodded. "Then I will leave tonight." He turned away and headed towards the door. Just before he opened the door, he paused, hand resting on the knob. Without turning around, he said, "It was not all for her, Alistair. You are my friend as well, and I do not have so many that I would just walk away from any of them.

"And do not let this change you like it's doing. If I can ever teach you anything, let it be this: Do not become me. You don't want that and neither would she."

He didn't wait for a response, twisting the knob and leaving quickly, his footfalls as silent as the room he had left.

* * *

Osric stood in the mild spring evening, watching Redcliffe castle. It was silent, though there must be close to three hundred souls huddled inside the walls. The only signs of life were the occasional lights seen in rooms in the evenings and the small movements on the battlements as soldiers stood vigil. There had been no attempted communications from the besieged, not that Osric had really expected any.

The Fereldans were a stubborn people, and their nobility seemed to exemplify that. Arl Teagan wouldn't give those who invaded his home the satisfaction of asking for terms. Osric wondered how long the arl's resolve would last. If he was a prudent man, he would surely have supplies to last awhile yet, though he would have been able to make them last far longer if he hadn't opened the castle gates to the villagers.

He snorted. It was naught but foolishness—a fine gesture, but ultimately pointless. The villagers were only a detriment during a siege. They offered no benefits and sapped finite resources. For Redcliffe, it would only be a matter of time before the inhabitants were driven out, their arl forced into surrendering if he wanted his people to live. If all of the nobility were this tender-hearted, his mission would be far easier than he anticipated.

Speaking of tender-hearted, he hadn't had a reply from Alistair. He frowned slightly. It was odd that he still hadn't heard anything back yet. He didn't expect Alistair to make a quick decision, but he had expected to hear _something_ by now. Was the king stalling for time?

The sound of a throat being cleared behind him interrupted his thoughts and he turned. "Ah, Marlon, please, join me." He gestured and the Warden stepped up beside them. "Have we had a reply from His Majesty, yet?"

"Not…exactly." Osric turned towards him and arched a brow slightly, indicating Marlon to continue. "We've had scouts watching. King Alistair's forces have continued to gather. We anticipated that, since it would take some time for him to get word to his forces telling them to stand down. However, in the last few days, it seems preparations have increased, not decreased. We know the bard made it to Denerim, so the message can be considered to have been delivered. That he continues to strengthen his forces…."

"It would seem he's rejected our offer. Interesting." Osric clasped his hands behind his back and thought. "Very well, then. Warden Marlon, I apologize for this, but I'm going to need you to return to Weisshaupt."

"Ser?"

"Alistair has rejected our terms, and therefore we must fulfill our promise, unfortunately. You will return to Weisshaupt and see to it."

"Yes, ser!"

Osric looked at the other Warden critically. "You will ask Alvarro to assist you, Marlon. I will send a message for him instructing him to follow your orders in this. When you task is done, I want both of you to return. I will need you here when Alistair has been brought to heel."

"Yes, ser. Of course."

"And, Marlon," Osric said, his voice dropping slightly in warning, "you will make it clean. Whatever she has done, she is a Warden and will meet an acceptable end. Is that understood?"

"O-Of course, First Warden."

Waving a hand in dismissal, Osric watched Marlon leave. Something would have to be done with him. Recent events had revealed a string of viciousness in Marlon that he hadn't realized was there. If he could be tempered, all would be well, but Osric could not afford to have someone in charge whose only thoughts were of revenge and punishment. Hopefully, Alvarro would keep him in line.

He turned back to the castle, watching as darkness fell and the small handful of lights appeared in the windows. In the morning, he would send a rider to the messenger waiting in Gwaren, and another to Vigil's Keep.


	46. Chapter 45

I apologize for the amount of time it took me to get this chapter to you. I had a bunch of things come up in real life, and then work started up again, and I've just been absolutely wiped out. Thankfully, things seem to have settled down and I can hopefully get back to my goal of on chapter a week or so. *crosses fingers*

I would like to thank KnightofPhoenix and Xandurpein for making sure I have things make sense and don't just indulge my fangirly-ness. *grumbles good naturedly*

As always, enjoy! And if you did, or even if you didn't, please review!

* * *

**Chapter 45**

The courtyard of Gwaren Keep was busy. A cacophony of sound rose up, the yelling and cursing of men mixing with the sound of smithies that worked both day and night. Animal sounds, from horses and mabari, only added to the tumult of noise. Servants ran back and forth, delivering messages or supplies. Soldiers drilled in formation while others sparred. Everywhere one looked, there were men and women working and preparing at an almost frantic pace.

High above the scene, Teyrna Anora watched the proceedings with a grim smile. Let no one ever say her castle was inefficient. _Keep_, she corrected mentally. Loghain had insisted upon his home being called a keep. Castles and palaces, apparently, were reserved for foolish nobles. Keeps were for soldiers.

A wistful smile touched her mouth briefly before fading. Her father had set up his military forces in Gwaren to run smoothly in his absence, should there ever be a situation where he wasn't there to supervise himself. When she was sent back here, she had merely continued his preparations. He had been the consummate general, and his expertise in this area was so complete that things ran smoothly even though his current absence was rather more permanent than either of them had planned.

There was a perfunctory knock at the door before it swung open to admit the main reason why military matters at Gwaren continued to run so smoothly. Ser Cauthrien entered and saluted sharply. Anora responded with a murmured word and gestured for Cauthrien to step up to the desk.

Anora would have said the years hadn't been kind to Ser Cauthrien, but that wasn't exactly true. Loghain's former second wasn't pretty by any stretch of the word, but neither was she ugly. Rather, the events during the Blight had aged her, deepening harsh frown lines beside her mouth and across her brow. Loghain's actions had wounded the leader of his troops, and Cauthrien's own betrayal of the man she would have served beyond death weighed heavily on her. Anora was certain that's why Cauthrien had sworn herself to her service as soon as humanly possible and drove herself to make sure everything in Loghain's former home was run exactly as he would have done.

Gesturing to the desk and papers upon it, Anora said, "Read those." The she turned back to the window, looking out and observing her people with her arms clasped loosely behind her back. It was a pose Loghain had often used and, right now, Anora found that anything that reminded her of her father was a tremendous comfort.

Behind her, Cauthrien's armor made a quiet chinking sound as she crossed the stone floor and began to read through the papers on the desk. A few minutes passed, the quiet rustle of parchment barely audible above the noise that drifted in through the window. All of a sudden, Cauthrien let out a startled gasp. Anora sighed nearly silently to herself, her shoulders sagging briefly, before straightening them and turning towards the leader of her forces.

Ser Cauthrien looked up at her, stricken, the papers in her hand clutched tightly. "My lady," she began. "I…I don't know what to say. What were you thinking?"

Anora took a deep breath before answering, nostrils flaring slightly in anger. "If my most trusted soldier, commander of my troops, can be fooled into thinking those are real, then what hope do I have?"

"Not real? But, my lady—"

"Of course they're not real!" Anora snapped. "How stupid do you think I am? Even if I was planning to usurp Alistair's throne, which I'm not and I should not have to point that out, I wouldn't be foolish enough to commit anything this damning in writing. Openly discussing overthrowing the sitting king? Laying plans for attacking his supporters and stoking the fire of civil war to create enough confusion that I could easily fill the power vacuum that would result after his death? That you, of all people, would be fooled by these gives me very little hope that anyone else in Ferelden would believe me."

"Apologies, my lady, I meant no offense. It's just that I would swear the writing is yours. And the seal…." Cauthrien's finger brushed over the yellow seal, the wyvern clearly defined in the wax, the bold lines of the overlapped "MT" below it starkly visible.

"I know," Anora said tiredly, coming over the desk and taking the papers from Cauthrien. She resisted the urge to sweep them all into the cold hearth and light them on fire. "Someone went to an awful lot of trouble to make these. And the seal? It's kept here, in this very room, securely locked. I've compared the seals on those letters with my seal. They're exactly the same."

"Which means," Cauthrien said slowly, "that there must have been somewhere here in the keep. A spy?"

Anora nodded. "In some form or another. The trouble lies in that I don't know when a copy was made, or when someone got a hold of enough of my personal writing to create perfect forgeries. So there's no way to find out who the spy was, if they're still here or if they've left." She shivered slightly, recalling Zevran's words that she best find the rat in her midst or face the not too thinly veiled consequences. "And you have no idea how important that information is."

Cauthrien nodded and then frowned. "If I may, how did you come by these?"

With a thin smile, Anora picked up another letter and handed it to Ser Cauthrien. "They were delivered to me yesterday, along with this." She waited until the knight had finished and looked up at her aghast before continuing. "It appears the Grey Wardens have grown dissatisfied with our monarchs. Their First Warden has offered me the throne when Alistair falls. Should I choose to oppose him, these documents, or others like them, will become public knowledge."

Cauthrien paled. She knew, as Anora did, that the penalty for treason was death. And with a war about to begin in Ferelden, it was doubtful Alistair would have the time, resources or inclination to launch a full investigation into the accusations, especially with such overwhelming evidence. "I…I see," Cauthrien said. She licked her lips nervously. "Are you going to accept?"

The look Anora gave the knight could have withered fields. "I am a _Mac Tir_," she breathed, voice tight with fury, hands gripping the back of the chair until it creaked. "I will not have my throne handed back to me by Orlesians, like I'm some sort of dog dancing for their amusement. My father gave his life to keeping Ferelden free and I _will not_ dishonor him by throwing all of that away and simply handing them our sovereignty."

Composing herself, she released the chair carefully. "I'm not a fool. Most of Ferelden knows I will never truly be at peace with losing my throne to Alistair. And, sadly, most believe I would do anything to regain it. I'm honest enough to admit that I would like to regain the throne. But not at the cost of treason. And if my rule were to be uncontested, there must be no heirs to challenge me." Anora gave Cauthrien a grim look. "I will not be party to murder of a pair of children just so that I can sit in a fancy chair.

"I must tread carefully here, Ser Cauthrien, else I risk angering both sides and condemning myself to a quick death. I cannot take the throne like the First Warden is offering, not unless I wish to be remembered as a traitor. And so my only choices are to remain neutral or support Alistair. Remaining neutral will hardly endear me to anyone, which leaves only siding with Alistair. And if he falls, then I fear so too will Ferelden. While I hold no love for him, that must not happen.

"I am sending you to Denerim, Ser Cauthrien, with assurances written in my own hand, and with these letters. They will explain everything, and hopefully I can stall Osric for time."

"My lady, please don't send me to the capital." The knight went to her knees. "There are others who can go. I should remain here, in case I'm needed."

"Get up, Cauthrien," Anora said tiredly. "You're the only one I can send to Alistair. I need to send someone who he knows is loyal to my family, but also loyal to Ferelden. You've already proven that to him."

"And so you throw my betrayal back in my face," Cauthrien replied bitterly.

"Enough," Anora snapped. "Neither of us have time for these histrionics. You didn't betray my father and I blame you no more than he would have. This works to our advantage now. You _will_ make ready to leave. You _will_go to Denerim. You _will_ do your duty as a knight sworn to my service and as the leader of my forces. Is that understood?"

Cauthrien rose and saluted. "Yes, my lady!"

"Excellent. You will leave in the morning. Make whatever preparations you need to and I will see you then." Cauthrien saluted again and left, the door closing behind her a bit too forcefully.

With a sigh, Anora sank down wearily into the chair and cradled her head in her hands. How had it come to this? As teyrna, she would be expected to lead her troops and that thought was more than a little daunting. In hindsight, she wished her father had spent more time in instructing her in military matters along with all of the other education she had received to prepare her to be queen.

"Oh, Father," she whispered sadly, "I'm almost glad you didn't live to see this, but Ferelden could use you now."

* * *

Two weeks after Wynne and Zevran left, Fergus made plans to depart for Highever. It was late at night and they were trying to get as much planning in as they could before he left in the morning.

"I need to go back to see to my own men and make sure they're prepared, though I have no doubt they will be. Once I'm set there, I'll take my forces west along the North Road. The latest word from Wulff and Alfstanna had their forces at almost complete readiness. By the time I meet up with them to assume command, they should be fully mustered and ready to march.

"After that, our combined forces will continue west, to hold the juncture where the North Road meets the Imperial Highway." Fergus gestured as they spoke. The throne room had been turned into a de facto war room. Large tables had been brought in and maps were spread across a few while others held the mountains of reports that continued to filter in.

Currently, only Fergus, Alistair, Eamon and Bredon were around the largest table which held the biggest and most detailed map of Ferelden they had. Small, crude figures representing their forces and Osric's forces were scattered across the map. The tiny representations of men and horses reminded him of all the little figurines Lya had given him so long ago. Alistair wondered if he should bring the little stone warrior with him when he left Denerim. They would continue using maps like this in the field, and he thought it fitting to use that first gift from her to represent his forces.

Fergus tapped the map, where squiggly black lines indicated the roads. "The area is heavily wooded and hilly and Wulff is quite familiar with it. Our knowledge of the terrain, the way it favors our forces, and with West Hills' and Waking Sea's troops in addition to Highever's, we should be able to hold the highway if Osric attempts to move his forces north."

He looked up at Alistair. "Are you still moving your forces south?"

Alistair nodded and traced his own finger along another set of lines. "We're going to head to South Reach first. Sighard and the Dragon's Peak forces will meet us there. After that, we need to push towards Lothering. It's still not much of a village due to the Blight, but it sits on the juncture where the Imperial Highway circles Lake Calenhad and meets with the West Road. It's also very close to where the branch of the Imperial Highway leads down to Ostagar. If Zevran is successful there, the Dalish could move up along that highway to join us. But if Osric gets to Lothering first, they'd then be behind enemy lines, flanked on both sides, and not much good to us if they're caught and ground into dog meat."

Frowning, he traced the blue line that ran along the West Road. "Our problem lies in the fact that if Osric gets to Lothering and holds it first, not only does he control that juncture, which would allow him to move troops more quickly between the north and south, and leave us unable to catch him, but he's also right on the Drakon River, The West Road closely follows the Drakon. It's useful for trade, but he'll also be able to move supplies along it, which he'd want to do if he intends to push towards Denerim."

"Do we know if he's headed for Lothering yet?" Fergus asked. "He'd be able to reach it a lot faster than us."

"Our last reports indicate he hasn't yet," Bredon answered, "though he may be preparing to. He's been holding at Redcliffe, waiting for the rest of his forces to gather."

Eamon spoke up. "How many does he have now?"

"Our numbers aren't concrete, as we can't get anyone quite close enough to get exact numbers, but he appears to have half again what his initial numbers were. Three legions of chevalier, roughly six thousand mounted men. Add in their support, another twelve thousand and they've got a sizable force."

Sizable? Alistair closed his eyes. Maker's blood, so many soldiers. Most Fereldans, as tough and loyal as they were, just weren't equipped to deal with that kind of threat. His own forces, if all of the Bannorn responded with their promised forces, would outnumber Osric's, but it wasn't simply a matter of quantity. The chevaliers would devastate his forces if they met in the open.

He needed Wynne to come through with the mages. Even a double handful would be enough to deal decisive blows to the enemy.

"He's waiting for all of his men to be ready to move," Bredon continued. "They pushed hard to get here and he wants them well-rested when the fighting begins. He has sent smaller parties out, beginning to take over the smaller villages and raid there. In all likelihood, he's sent a similar force to Lothering, but they might just be outriders, sent to take and hold the village for the main force."

"Is there any way we might be able to dislodge that force, before the main bulk of their army reaches them?" Fergus queried.

"Doubtful," Alistair replied with a grimace. "Ceorlic was slow to rebuild his forces after the Blight and I know they're not at full strength. There's militia in the area, but as far as their training and equipment goes?" He sighed. "It might be more useful to have a few packs of mabari there."

From beneath the table, Golanth growled quietly and Alistair started slightly. The hound had taken to following him around lately, and Alistair had quite forgotten the beast was even there. He allowed himself a small smile. "I mean it. You're going to be damn useful against their horses."

Fergus nodded slowly. "You're bringing mabari?"

"Yes. The kennel masters have been working with them on crippling mounts. It seems a shame as their numbers are finally back up after Ostagar and Denerim, but we need them."

"I can see that. Good."

"We're getting a bit far afield here, gentlemen," Eamon said quietly, calling them back to order. "General Bredon, is it possible to send our own quick strike force to Lothering, to either hold it before Osric does or to try and drive out his troops if they're already there?"

Bredon leaned over to study the map and rubbed his jaw, which now sported a short beard. "It's possible," he mused. "We do have mounted units, though they're not like the chevaliers. Our men aren't armored as heavily and the horses aren't armored like the chevaliers warhorses. They can move faster and with fewer supplies than the Orlesians. If I begin preparations in the morning, they should be ready to set out by the day after tomorrow."

"Do it," Alistair ordered. He thought for a moment. "Is there anything else we need to cover?"

Fergus shook his head. "I'm all set. You intend to depart Denerim soon?"

"Ah, excuse me, your Majesty."

Alistair turned towards the soldier currently running messages.

"Yes?"

"Senior Enchanter Wynne has returned, ser. You asked to be notified as soon as she arrived."

"Very good. Send her in immediately."

"Yes, ser." The soldier saluted sharply and left quickly. Alistair gestured for the others to wait as well. If Wynne had been successful, he'd like to send a few mages with Fergus. Their presence would be especially helpful with the smaller force he would be commanding.

When the door opened to admit Wynne a few minutes later, First Enchanter Irving was by her side. Alistair let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. It could be Irving was only here to tell him that the mages couldn't help, but Alistair didn't think the older man would make the journey all the way to the capital just to say that.

What shocked him was seeing Knight-Commander Greagoir walking behind the two mages.

"Your Majesty," Irving greeted him in his gravelly voice.

"First Enchanter," Alistair returned. He turned to Wynne and enfolded her in a hug. She looked tired, but content, and she returned his hug with a reassuring little squeeze.

Looking back at the two men who controlled and ran the circle tower, he said, "I hope this means you have good news for me, gentlemen." The two older men looked at each other for a moment, and then Greagoir nodded at Irving, gesturing for him to speak.

"It depends what you consider good news," said Irving dryly. "We've come with five mages in addition to me."

Five. Alistair closed his eyes for a brief moment. He'd hoped for more. No matter. What they had would have would have to suffice. It wasn't like they had much of a choice. With that few mages, he could only send a couple with Fergus. As much as it hurt to lose them from his own forces, he couldn't leave Fergus's smaller force with no magical protection.

Irving continued, "We would have liked to bring more, but this is a private matter and the Chantry disapproves of the circle getting involved in such things." He shot Greagoir a quick glance. "We're taking a great risk with this many as it is. Though I'm hoping you can answer a few questions for my colleague that may change how the situation is perceived."

Alistair looked at Greagoir. The Knight-Commander fussed with his gauntlets for a moment before looking at him. "We've had some…disturbing reports from some of the refugees. They report mages among the Orlesian forces. These would be Warden mages, correct?"

"Most likely. I can't see who else they could be."

"I see." Greagoir paused, head titled slightly back as he thought. "These reports contain descriptions of…unconventional magic. Tell me, your Majesty, do the Wardens use blood mage."

The tension in the room was palpable. Alistair looked at Greagoir warily. There didn't appear to be any anger or malice in the templar, just a quiet, cold calculation.

"Some do," Alistair temporized.

Greagoir nodded once. "Maleficar," he said quietly. "Well, that changes things. About a dozen templars have come with us, to both supervise and protect the mages. But if there are blood mages on the loose, they will need to be dealt with. I will return to the tower tomorrow and arrange to have more mages and templars ready should we have confirmed reports of blood magic being used. The Chantry cannot allow that to go unchallenged or unpunished."

Alistair understood the underlying message of Greagoir's words. The circle could not openly support him if they wanted to maintain their neutrality. If the Chantry truly objected, the blame could be pinned on Irving going rogue and taking a few loyal underlings with him. The mages would be left to twist in the wind.

However, if blood magic were being used, then the templars would be within their rights to take steps—including using circle mages to support them—whether the blood mages were Wardens or not. Alistair was glad Anders wasn't there. The entire reasoning was far too close to what the unfortunate Ser Rylock had used when hunting him in Amaranthine.

Maker's mercy. What kind of world was it when he needed blood magic to be used in order to get the support he needed? It was only made worse by the fact that he found himself hoping Osric's mages would do it. He found his lip curling at the repugnant thought, but couldn't deny the logic in the unspoken offer.

"That sounds fine, Knight-Commander. We wouldn't want blood mages running unchecked through the countryside." Greagoir nodded stiffly, and Alistair turned slightly so that he was addressing Irving as well, who had been watching the exchange with hooded, wary eyes. "If you'll see the seneschal, he'll find you accommodations."

The two older mean bowed their head briefly and turned and left.

"Thank you, Wynne."

The older woman smiled back at him. It erased some of the weariness from her face. "My pleasure, dear."

"You need to get some rest, Wynne," he added quietly, noting the new lines on her face, ones that hadn't been there just a few short weeks ago.

Wynne patted his arm. "Time enough to rest later. I'm well enough. And don't try and coddle me with neglecting yourself. You need to keep yourself well rested, too, especially if you're going into battle. You're leaving soon?"

"Yes, in a couple of days."

She nodded and her brow furrowed as she thought, deepening the lines there. Drawing him back from the others a bit to afford them some privacy, she asked carefully, "Alistair, how much time have you been spending with your children?"

Immediately, Alistair stiffened and then relaxed. It wasn't a criticism. Wynne wouldn't do that. "Not enough, I know that," he said in a low voice. "But there's so much to do, not enough time to do it in, and…. And I'd rather miss time with them now and make sure they survive than have the opposite happen."

Wynne made small, comforting sounds and rubbed his arm in a soothing, circular motion. "It's all right, Alistair. I understand. But you need to make time for them, now more than ever. You're surrounded by people who will take care of thing for you. So let them do that and do something for yourself and your children. Before you leave, take at least one day with them. Be a _father_. Enjoy them while you can. Do it for them, do it for you, and do it for Lya."

Alistair passed a hand over his face, rubbing his temples. "When did you get to be so good at guilt?"

She laughed softly. "When you're old as I am, you pick up a few tricks. You will do it, I hope?"

"Of course, I will. I was already planning on doing that." He looked at her earnestly. "Wynne? You'll stay here with them, right? I know Dara's staying and I've managed to convince Shaye to remain here, as well. But I'd feel better if you were here, too."

For a long time, Wynne said nothing. "Alistair, I would be of more use with you. I'm very good at healing, and I've been in battle. Trust me, I'm better used being out there than kept here. I'm used to being in danger."

How to tell her he knew all that and that's what he was afraid of? He didn't want her out in danger like that, not now. During the Blight, she had been stronger than she was now. Much stronger. Not in the magic she could cast, but physically. He'd already pushed her by making her journey to the tower and back, and he didn't think she could take the rigors of an extended military campaign. At least, not anymore. But she so stubborn….

With a final pat of his arm, Wynne stepped away from him. "I said not to coddle me, young man, and I meant it. We can discuss this in a day or two. I'm not a fool. Trust me, I know my limits." She flapped a hand at him in mock irritation. "Oh, you young people and thinking you have no limits. Enough concern for these old bones. You need to get yourself into a bed."

With a clap of her hands, she called the men to attention. "Gentlemen, it's late and we all have a very early morning tomorrow. Let's adjourn here for the evening. Good night, Fergus, Eamon, General Bredon. I'll see you in the morning, Alistair."

They replied with their own good nights, and with belated stretches and yawns, followed Wynne out. Alistair lingered in the room, however. For a while, he stood and looked around the great hall. It was in this very room that so much began. The wide double doors they had walked through to challenge Loghain. That spot near the steps where he has slain Loghain. The memory of Lya keeping her promise to see it through with him in the best way possible and saying she would rule beside him. The good-natured eye roll she had shot him as he stumbled through his first public address. The dual thrones where they began their rule. There were years in this room, memories of a life spent together. But both years and lives were too short, far shorter than they should have been. And it was possible that in a few days, there would be no new memories of this room—that when he walked out to put himself at the head of his army, he might be leaving for the last time.

The thought was not as sad as it should have been—more of a lingering regret. It would be what it would be. Alistair took a deep breath and headed towards his rooms. He checked on Duncan and Elwyn before going to bed. They were sleeping deeply, tangled together on their bed. After a moment of hesitation, he picked them up to bring them to his rooms with him, careful not to wake them. Right now, all he wanted was to have them close. He'd wanted them near him for a while, but duty—and guilt—had kept him away. There wasn't time for that anymore. Like grains of sand through an hour glass, his time was slipping away from him. And if he couldn't hold time in his hands, he would hold the only things that really mattered.


	47. Chapter 46

I've realized, in the course of writing this story, that I sometimes get caught up in certain story elements and forget about others. This chapter is a way of sort of making up for that oversight. I realize you're all excited for action, but this chapter is some bittersweet fluff. And for those who are really dying for the action, thank you for bearing with me, and rest assured, for the next chapter—to war!

As always, enjoy! And reviews are very much appreciated.

**EDIT:** I wish to apologize profusely for the absolute mess this chapter was. My dumn self forgot forgot to accept all the changes in my document and it broke when I uploaded. This should all be correct. Again. I am so sorry for any confusion and for the state of this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 46**

When he got up in the morning, the twins still sleeping deeply on the large bed, Alistair sought out Eamon and finalized the plans to leave in the morning. Leaving instructions that his chancellor was to take care of things today, and that short of another archdemon rising out of the ground somewhere in the city, he made is very clear that he was not to be disturbed today.

By the time he returned to his rooms, Liadan had Duncan and Elwyn up and dressed. After thanking her, he also dismissed her for the day. She seemed a bit startled by the request, but he was firm. "I need today, Liadan," he said quietly.

She nodded once. "Of course, your Majesty. Just give me a few moments to tell them."

Liadan knelt by the twins, cuddling them close and explaining that today their father would be taking care of them. They protested and clung to her. Alistair felt awful, standing to side awkwardly as Liadan soothed them. How does a man end up a stranger to his children, to the point where someone else has to tell them it's all right to be with him?

Eventually, they were settled enough that Liadan felt she could leave without them fussing. She rose, smoothing her skirts. "I'll be nearby if you have need of me." And after dropping a respectful curtsy, she let herself out and left him with his children.

Her departure left him standing awkwardly in the room with his quiet children. This had been easier when they were smaller, when their attention had been easy to capture with a silly face or a tickle. Alistair went down to the floor beside him, taking their small hands in his large ones and trying to draw them out.

They were reluctant at first, answering questions with mute nods or headshakes. Alistair willed himself not to be frustrated. For months now, their care had been handed off to Liadan and Dara and they hadn't seen him nearly as much as the women. Their reticence was understandable. Eventually, though they started to relax and Elwyn shyly asked if he wanted to play with them.

He did.

As they fell into their games, and realized that he really wasn't going to leave after a brief visit, all of their hesitancy fled. They whooped and hollered and began chattering about the things they wanted to do, all the things they were going to do, and how great it was going to be.

It took his breath away at how easily pleased they were to have his undivided attention for the first time in months. He tried not to think of how it reminded him of his own childhood and how he would have given anything to have someone, anyone, shower attention like this on him for even just an hour. With that thought firmly in mind, Alistair set out to enjoy his last day in Denerim with his family.

And it was a good day. The best he had had since waking up that morning—and how long ago was it now?—to find Lya gone. Duncan and Elwyn were…amazing, and he marveled that anything so incredible could ever come from him. They were small bundles of explosive energy and hundreds of questions and _Daddy, look what I can do_! For the first time in months, he really smiled, truly laughed, lost in the wonder of his children.

They wanted to start the day in their room and Alistair found himself on the floor, building castles out of wooden blocks. His hand became a fearsome dragon, slain by the mighty sword of Ser Duncan so that the brave knight could rescue the beautiful Princess Ellie. Elwyn promptly objected because _she_ wanted to be the one who killed the dragon and Duncan had ruined it. A short fight broke out between the two before Alistair revealed that he had two hands, and so there could be two dragons and they could each get one.

Wooden blocks gave way to pillows and blankets, their bedroom transformed into an impromptu fort. Once huddled inside, Alistair heard Golanth's curious whine from outside and looked at the twins with a finger over his lips. "Shhh," he said in a loud whisper, drawing giggles from his children. "I think I hear something. Let's listen." He cupped his hand around the ear, making a dramatic listening face. The twins kept giggling, trying to stifle the sounds with their hands and matched his pose. Waiting until he heard Golanth pad closer, he suddenly said, "Now!" And Duncan and Elwyn leapt from their hiding place to pounce on the hound.

They fell upon Lya's mabari and the war hound promptly flopped over, rolling onto his back with his legs up in the air and tongue lolling out of his mouth in an exaggerated pose of playing dead. They squealed their triumph, dissolving into laughter again when Golanth licked their faces, his tongue dampening an entire side of their face.

Shortly thereafter, Liadan poked her head into the room to inform him it was time for their lunch. Alistair was shocked that the morning had passed so quickly. He requested that Liadan bring their lunch to the palace gardens, and after she took them to the privy, walked down with his children, Duncan and Elwyn each holding a hand.

While they waited, they showed him around. The swings under a huge, old oak that Uncle Fergus had put up for them, the hedge where a family of bunnies lived, the white flowers that smelled the prettiest—everything was worthy of the same seriousness and attention to detail.

They insisted on being pushed on the swings, and Alistair indulged them—as he would any request they had today—until Liadan came out to briefly to let him know she would bring food out shortly. After lunch arrived, they ate on a blanket under the shade of the oak. Their busy morning had tuckered them out, because shortly after they finished eating, the twins curled up on the blanket and napped. Alistair joined them in slumber for awhile, a child tucked against each side.

When Alistair awoke, Duncan was no longer near and he bolted upright in a near panic. Heart hammering in his chest, he looked around quickly and spotted the small, blond figure crouched before a flower bed. He released a shaky breath. It wasn't like anything could have happened to his son, as there were guards in the garden, but the fear he felt during those few moments he didn't know where Duncan was was a palpable thing.

Duncan looked up, saw his father, and beckoned him over with a small hand. Gently untangling himself from Elwyn, he walked over to his son.

"Daddy, look," Duncan said quietly, a finger extended towards a leaf. Alistair followed his son's gaze, finally spotting the ladybug crawling on the leaf. Duncan extended his finger so that it barely touched the leaf. The ladybug bumped into it and turned away. Curious, Alistair watched as Duncan moved his finger and tried again. Over and over, he did that until his patience was finally rewarded. Grinning in triumph, Duncan looked at his father over the finger the ladybug was slowly crawling up.

Alistair watched his son watch the tiny creature, wondering if he had ever possessed the patience his son did. As a child, he would have gotten bored and left to do something else inside of five minutes. But Duncan went after things with a single-minded determination, his attention focusing on something until he got what he wanted. For some reason, it surprised him. In his mind, he always figured his son would be rowdy and rambunctious. And while at nearly three, Duncan was definitely that, there was also a quiet intensity about him, a seriousness that made his green eyes even more familiar.

Looking back towards the blanket, he watched his daughter sleep. His little Ellie. He chuckled quietly. As much as he loved his son, and he didn't love one more than the other, there was something about his daughter that made his heart melt. There was no hiding anything with her. What she felt, she wore openly on her face, and she wasn't above using it to her advantage. Her hazel eyes would go wide and her lower lip would stick out in a pout, trembling ever so slightly until his resolve was usually tested beyond the breaking point. A tiny slip of a girl, and she held the king of Ferelden in palm of her hand.

Eventually, Elwyn roused, rubbing sleep out of her eyes with small fists. When she was finally alert, and after Duncan had returned Spot, his ladybug, to her leaf, Alistair brought them back inside. The early afternoon sun had warmed the day considerably and the inside the palace, with its massive stone walls, was much cooler.

Given their active morning, Duncan and Elwyn were content to spend the afternoon in quieter ways. Elwyn wanted stories, so Liadan brought him their favorite books of tales. Stretched out on the floor, his children fascinated by the exquisite gilt illuminations that came with each story, he read to them. Alistair didn't necessarily read the stories exactly as they were set out, paraphrasing the more difficult wording or adding details. Often times, one of them would interject with their own versions of what was going on with the stories.

"Da, what's this one?" Elwyn had picked up on the term Nathaniel called Fergus. "Nanny Lia never reads it to us." She pointed to the next story. The illumination on the page showed two figures, holding swords, their armor done in gold and silver gilt. Alistair looked at the facing page for the title.

The Savior and the Hero.

"Da?" They were both looking at him, waiting, and Alistair took a deep breath.

"It's…it's a story about your…grandfather and…his best friend. About how they saved Ferelden."

"Can you read it?"

He sighed. Maybe he would deny them something today after all. "Not right now, sweet pea. It's a long story and Daddy doesn't really feel like telling it right now." He closed the book. "Why don't you two go play? I'm going to take a little break."

"All right!" Elwyn popped up and grabbed Duncan's hand. "C'mon, Duncan!"

They ran to their toy chest, rummaging through until the emerged with what they wanted and settled down to play. Alistair sat up, bring the book with him and read through the story. It was heroic and romantic and inspiring and Alistair knew for damn sure that reality hadn't been anything like that. It never was. Would it be worth it, he wondered, to tell them the truth? To tell them that in the end, the Savior had been unwilling to save one small boy and that the Hero had fallen and become the villain?

He thought not—at least, not until they were older, much older, and then he might not be around for the telling. And did it really matter? It was history. Done with. Over. Maybe he could simply let the stories be, and remind them only that nothing was ever as black and white as it seemed—nor as simple—and that in the end, the heroes were still just human.

With a head shake, he closed the book and pushed himself off the floor. Time enough for those thoughts later, and if there wasn't, he had bigger problems. He crossed the room to his children, settling down next to them. There was still time for this, for them, right now.

* * *

The rest of the day passed too quickly. The sun started to set and Alistair knew Liadan would be coming in soon to put them to bed. And he couldn't let them wake up tomorrow to find him gone without saying anything to them. Scooping them up, he carried them to the bed. Bellies were tickled, kisses given, and when they were giggly and breathless, Alistair sat before them on the bed, legs crossed.

"I need you guys to listen to me for a few minutes. I have something important to tell you." Duncan and Elwyn sat up, something instinctive that children responded to when an adult used _that_ tone. Duncan's foot was near his knee, and Alistair grasped it lightly, running his thumb along the tiny instep on the boy's foot. His son giggled.

"Daddy…has to go away for a little while."

Silence filled the bedroom as the eyes of both children widened.

"Why do you have to go, too?" Duncan asked.

"Because there are some things only I can do, Duncan. Grown-up things. I have…." Responsibilities. Duties. Obligations. All things children couldn't understand and didn't care about. "This is something Daddy has to do."

"Can we come?"

Alistair grasped the little foot in his hand a bit tighter. "No, pup, you can't come. It wouldn't be a good idea."

Then Elwyn was up, burrowing against him, her small arms wrapping around him. "I don't want you to go!"

He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. "I know, sweetie, I know. I don't want to go, either

"Are you going to get Mummy?" Duncan asked quietly.

Alistair looked at his son helplessly. "No, Duncan," he finally said, "I'm not."

"When is she coming back?" His daughter's question was muffled against his chest.

_Oh, Maker_...

Closing his eyes, he a hand over his face. Unable to look at either of them, he replied, "She's not, Ellie."

"Why not?" Duncan demanded. His small face was serious, angry and upset. "She should come back! We want her back!"

Blinking rapidly, Alistair reached out to cup Duncan's round cheek. "I wish she could, Duncan. And she wants to, more than anything, believe me."

"She doesn't love us anymore."

"Oh, Maker, Duncan, no!" he said, horrified. He reached out and pulled the boy to him, beside his sister. "That's not it at all. Your mother loves you so much. So very much. More than anything else in the whole world."

"Then why won't she come back?"

"Because she can't. She's…." The reason was right there, right in front of him and the words stuck in his throat. They deserved to know the truth, and Alistair couldn't bring himself to tell his children that their mother was dead.

"Sometimes people go away and they can't come back, no matter how much they want to or we want them to. If there was anyway for Mummy to come back, she would. But there isn't. She's not coming back. I'm sorry."

Elwyn burst into sobs, her tears soaking into his shirt. Duncan's lower lip quivered and a moment later he was wailing as well. Keeping them held tight to him, he rocked them. There was a sound at the door and Alistair turned to see Liadan in the door, looking concerned. He shook his head slightly, and she nodded and left.

Nothing he could say could help, no words could offer them comfort, so Alistair let them cry it out. He was aware that they didn't really understand what was going on. They were upset because they missed Lya and because he was upset. Maybe it was a blessing that they were too young to know what it really meant, and too young to really remember this pain when they were older.

Eventually, their tears stopped and he settled them back against the pillows. He tucked them under the sheet, retrieving a handkerchief to dry their eyes and blow their noses. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he smoothed their hair, giving out kisses and hugs and murmuring "I love you" to them as they needed it.

When they finally fell into a fitful sleep, he left them as they were. There wasn't any need to disturb them just to change their clothes.

Watching them, he realized how much he had taken them for granted. After everything that had happened, they had always been there, small bits of light in the darkness. Even when he hadn't been able to be with them, they'd been in the back of his mind, little weights to keep him grounded and focused.

He didn't want to go tomorrow.

The thought hit him like a blow to the chest, heavy and hard. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay, right here in this room with his children. Here, away from everything outside, there was peace. Here he could almost forget the gaping hole in his life, the ache in his heart from what he had done.

And then he was moving, away from the bed and out of the room with lengthy strides. Liadan and Shayelyn stood up as he came through the door. He gestured to the open door behind him. "Stay with them, please." Liadan nodded and moved silently into the bedroom.

"Shaye, could you go get Eamon, or send someone to get him?"

"Of course, your Majesty."

Outside the window where he waited, Denerim was quiet. It was still early evening, but there were very few sounds drifting in through the open window. There were lights in the city, but they seemed to mainly be concentrated in a few taverns and inns. The populace, even this far removed from the events occurring in the western part of Ferelden, had responded to the invasion by buckling down and forgoing most of their usual frivolities and pleasures.

"Alistair?"

Eamon's quiet call pulled Alistair from his thoughts and he turned. The former arl stood by the door, alone. Shayelyn had obviously stayed outside. Alistair gestured to a couch.

"Sit, Eamon."

As Eamon settled himself, Alistair looked back out the window, gathering his thoughts. "Is everything ready for me to leave tomorrow?"

"Yes, it is." Eamon paused slightly. "You could stay in the capital, Alistair."

"No. No, I can't. I just…. I can't."

"No one expects you to lead this personally."

"Don't they?" He gave Eamon a rueful smile. "This is Ferelden, Eamon. Even I know what's expected of me. I may not be involved in the fighting," his hands tightened into fists because, Maker, he _wanted_ to fight, "but I have to be there."

"Very well. I can understand that. What else did you need?"

Alistair started to speak, stopped and tried again. Nodding towards the bedroom, he said, "The twins. I…." He cleared his throat. "If the worst happens, if I…fail, you need to get them out of Ferelden. I don't care where, but they need to be away from here. If Fergus Cousland survives, and if he can be convinced to leave Ferelden, I'd like for him to take them. But if he falls as well, or will not leave, my children are _your_ responsibility, Eamon. Whatever else you do, _keep them safe_!" The last words were said vehemently. Eamon had to understand how vitally important this was.

His former guardian's face had shuttered slightly when Alistair mentioned Fergus, but it smoothed out as Alistair finished his request and he nodded slowly. "Understandable. But may I ask about their birthright?"

"You mean the throne." Eamon nodded. Alistair shook his head, his mouth twisting in disgust. "If I lose, Eamon, I think that's as clear a sign from the Maker as can be that the Theirins aren't meant to hold the throne anymore. I don't care what you or anyone else feels about it, but—no!" He cut Eamon off as he began to say something. "No, Eamon. Don't do that to my children. Don't make their lives about vengeance or reclaiming the throne. I don't care what they are, royalty or commoners, king or queen or farmer or merchant, _it doesn't matter_. I want them to be safe and I'd like for them to be happy. I won't have their lives consumed trying to regain something that won't bring them any happiness."

He leaned against the wall. "If you can't do that, tell me now so I can find someone else who can. Can you do as I ask?"

Eamon sighed heavily. "Yes, your Majesty."

"Good. Now, if I succeed, but fall in my efforts, you need to prepare them. I've drawn up documents declaring Fergus their regent, and then you if he falls. You will remain chancellor." He fixed Eamon with a stern look. "Make sure they're ready for it, Eamon. I don't want them being thrust into it as unprepared as I was, nor do I want them to approach it like Cailan did. It's not fair to them, and it's not fair to Ferelden."

"Very well, Alistair. I-I'd like a chance to correct my mistakes, I think."

Alistair nodded. "I need you to do one more thing for me, Eamon. And this is probably the most important thing of all."

"Anything, Alistair."

He took a deep breath. This was hard. Forcing out these next words, admitting to himself the very real need for them, hurt. "Tell them…tell them we loved them." His vision hazed over and he blinked quickly to clear them, refusing to give into desire to just be weak for a little while. "Make sure they know that we didn't want to leave, that we would've given anything to stay with them. I don't want them growing up feeling unloved and unwanted or that we abandoned them.

"If you do nothing else for me, Eamon, do that. None of the rest of this," he waved his hand at the room, the gesture encompassing so much more than just the space, "matters if they don't know that. Tell them we _loved_ _them_." His voice broke on the last words and he couldn't continue.

Eamon regarded him with dark eyes. "You have my word, Alistair."

"Thank you."

And he looked back out the window, for there was nothing more to be said.


	48. Chapter 47

I would like to start with an apology and an explanation. Shortly after publishing chapter 46, and struggling with chapter 47, I realized I needed a break from the story. I had a bunch of other ideas in my head that I needed to get out because they were driving me nuts. I had intended to take a break for a few weeks and then get back to work. Needless to say, that didn't happen. Two weeks turned into two months.

I'm sorry for that.

I kept trying to get back into the story and it just wasn't working. So I took a complete break and didn't even look at it for a month. I relaxed, worked on other stories, and played some more Dragon Age. And then I looked back at what I had of 47 and the rest of it seemed to just flow. Hopefully, that's because it's good and what the story is supposed to be. We'll see. I'm going to try my damnedest to do weekly updates. I work much better when I stick to a schedule and I'm crossing my fingers that that'll work for me here.

For those of you who stuck with me, thank you. Thank you for checking up on me, for giving me encouragement and for being ever so patient. I know how much it sucks when you're reading a story and the author just stops updating. And I hate the fact that I did that to you guys.

So, here it is! The long awaited update! Please enjoy! And so you know, the character of Arihel is a shout out to yukidama's(BSN) Dalish PC.

Oh, and those other ideas in my head? _Mistakes_ is one of them and I love that story to death. Go read it right now. ^_^

* * *

**Chapter 47**

Alistair rose before dawn the next morning, giving his children one last kiss before slipping from the room silently. The halls outside his chambers were abuzz with activity, even this early in the morning. Servants and soldiers scurried back and forth, making last minute preparations.

In the armory, he stood silently while two squires armored him in the set of plate Lya had had commissioned for him. Neither had liked having him wear Cailan's armor, despite how useful it had been as a symbol. After the Blight was over, they had retired it to a hall set aside to honor the monarchs of Ferelden.

To take its place, Lya had ordered this set, working with both Wade and Sandal for weeks before it was done. It was fantastically light, weighing little more than his old set of splintmail. To his attuned senses, every piece thrummed with enchantments, the magical runes working to bolster his own abilities and serve as wards against harm.

He hadn't expected to ever _need_ to use this armor.

Kaden, who had attached himself to Alistair as a body guard over the past few months, and who had followed him down, helped him secure the last buckles, waving the squires away and out of the room. Once done, he picked up the arms he intended to use. While he would bring Duncan's weapons and shield, it was Starfang that he slid into his sheath and her shield that he hefted, the Cousland crest enameled over and replacing the faded fox head.

Everything else done, he pulled his gauntlets on, tucked his helmet under one arm, and left. Eamon and his commanders were waiting for him in the throne room when he finally entered.

"Is everything ready?" he asked.

"Yes, your Majesty," replied Bredon. "The troops began moving out roughly two hours ago. The banns and arls, along with their own force commanders, will either be traveling with us or meeting up with us as we march. The mages and templars will also be traveling with us."

"Very good." He looked over each man in the immediate vicinity. "Everyone knows what they're doing?"

They all nodded.

"Good. Kade, you're staying here with Shaye. I've already spoken with her, but whatever orders Eamon gives regarding my children you are to follow."

"Yes, your Majesty."

Alistair turned towards one of the soldier messengers. "Would you see if Wynne is up, and if so, bring her here? I'd like to talk to her before we go."

"The Senior Enchanter, sire?"

The hesitation and slight confusion in the man's answer gave Alistair pause. "Yes, of course the Senior Enchanter."

The man shifted uneasily. "But she's not here, your Majesty."

"What?"

"She left yesterday with the troops you sent to Lothering. She…she said you knew."

Alistair's hands clenched in frustration and anger. Trust Wynne to ignore what he'd said and do what she wanted. Stubborn, stubborn woman. The group that had gone to Lothering was traveling quickly—there would be no point in sending a message.

"Never mind, then. We'll see if we can send word to them on the road. If we're all set, let's go."

Knights fell into step around him as they exited the palace proper. Mounts, along with the nobles, templars and mages, were already waiting for them. Troops were moving through the city in ordered formations. The people of Denerim lined the streets, calling out well wishes to the departing fighters. Some ran up, bestowing last minute kisses and favors to husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons who were going off to war and might not be returning.

Keeping his gaze fixed mostly ahead, Alistair tried to project a sense of confidence, giving an occasional acknowledgement when a cry of his name drifted over the sounds the crowd. He didn't want this to seem like a joyful sending off, but nor did he want to look grim and hopeless.

As they passed through the city gates, he turned back once. The buildings and walls were familiar sights now, the palace rising over smaller buildings, and in the distance, the soaring tower of Fort Drakon overlooking everything. He had come to love this city, come to think of it as his.

And now, he hoped it wouldn't be the last time he would see it.

* * *

There was activity in the village even in the early morning hours. Lamplight shone from windows and voices could be heard over the clinking of armor as chevaliers walked around the small village. Other sounds, muffled cries coming from within the houses, could also be heard, along with cruel laughter that was made all the more coarse by the very fact that it came in cultured and cultivated tones.

Crouched in the woods surrounding Lothering, Zevran watched the activity as he had done for the last several hours, remaining as still as a statue. A soft footfall behind him, near silent and certain to be unheard by all but the most skilled listeners, alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone. He didn't even turn his head to address the person.

"Ah, my dear Leliana, come to watch over your countrymen with me?" His voice was kept low, not a whisper—for those traveled far in the still night air—but pitched so that it would not travel.

The bard dropped to one knee beside him, her well-oiled leathers silent. "Orlesian though they might be," she replied in the same tone, "they are _not_ my countrymen. Has anything changed?"

"No. They are still bent on…enjoying the local pleasures available to them."

Leliana sighed quietly. "These poor people. To have lost so much to the Blight, then have things restored only to lose it again this way…." A faint headshake finished the unspoken thought.

"This was your home, yes? When you fled Orlais?"

"Yes. I knew peace here and this is where I met…." She cleared her throat very gently. "After the Blight, Alistair and Lya sent extra funds to help Lothering rebuild. He never felt right about the way we simply left the village."

"And now it has been taken by the chevaliers."

"Yes."

They knelt quietly in the dark for several more minutes before Zevran rose silently, Leliana joining him a heartbeat later. "We should go. By this time, the Dalish should be returning from scouting."

The two rogues made their way through the woods, arriving at a small clearing. Within the clearing, several figures were waiting for them, and as they saw who was joining them, moved closer to form a rough circle. Zevran turned his attention first to a Dalish elf.

When he and Leliana had arrived at Ostagar, they had sought out Keeper Lanaya. She spoke for the Dalish and was their best bet for securing aid. Luckily, Lanaya remember both Leliana and him, making it that much easier to negotiate. Alistair's warning that things might go poorly for the Dalish should the Orlesians prevail had been enough to convince Lanaya that the Dalish should help, though she seemed willing to aid them even without that hanging over her head.

She had called the clans together to discuss what should be done. Many elves had been hesitant to get involved in what they saw as a strictly shemlen affair. They remembered only too well what had happened to their people when they concerned themselves in human affairs.

Others, however, had argued in favor of helping for that very reason. Dalish memory was long and they remembered being persecuted for not helping in the past. Lanaya had pressed her case when it seemed the Keepers could not come to a decision. She reminded them all that the _only_ reason the Dalish had a home now, and a chance to rebuild what they had lost, was because of what Alistair and Lya granted them.

Not only that, but she went a step further. She said that for what the Wardens had done for her clan, that they would render the aid Zevran and Leliana were asking for, even if no other clan did. The Dalish would be known to have aided Ferelden in this struggle, regardless of what the other clans chose to do.

The implied threat—that even if they sat out they would still be subject to any retaliation because Lanaya's clan helped—was enough to make the others Keepers agree, though some did most reluctantly. Their hand forced, they had turned their discussions to deciding how many Dalish should go and who should lead them.

In the end, they sent several hundred Dalish warriors. It was as if they had decided that if they were to suffer for fighting the Orlesians, they would commit to the fight and earn their repercussions. And the Dalish chosen to lead them stood before him now.

"My Lady Arihel," Zevran said smoothly, bowing to elf.

The elf, pale with nearly white-blonde hair and silvery eyes, frowned slightly.

"I have no need of your shem titles," she said. "You may call me Arihel of the Mahariel clan or Arihel."

"My apologies, Arihel. I meant no offense. Have your people finished scouting?"

"Yes. It is as you thought. While you say it is a small force, the Orlesians here are too many for us to take without a number of casualties. But if we combine our force with the…militia," she hesitated over the unfamiliar word, "we should be able to drive them from the village."

"Excellent." Zevran rubbed his hands together and turned towards the man standing to his left. "Are your men ready, Captain Nolan?"

"As they'll ever be. You sure this will work?"

"It should," Zevran answered. "We attack at dawn, when they will not be expecting anything, and when they will either just be waking up or tired from a night of revelry." The captain glared at him when he said that and Zevran gave the man a sympathetic look.

"I know those are the families of you and your men in the village, which is all the more reason why we need to make our move soon. We all know the plan, yes? Captain, your men shall launch the initial assault. You must inflict enough damage to goad the chevaliers into pursuing you. When they do, you must move your men back to the highway and get them to chase you.

"Your men are more lightly armored, and can move more quickly. The chevaliers will be forced to use their horses if they wish to overtake you. This will force them into a longer, stretched out column along the road. This is where the Dalish come in.

"Arihel's forces will be split. Most will be placed to either of the highway. Two smaller groups have been working through the night, so that when the column is in place, trees can be dropped across the highway. This will prevent the chevaliers from going both forward and retreating. A third smaller group, working with some of your own men will enter the village to clear out the rest of the chevaliers. If this works, we should be able to eat lunch in Lothering."

The captain frowned. "If your elves don't drop those trees at the right time and place, my men are going to get ground into dog meat."

"My people are not so stupid as to make mistakes with so simple a task, shem."

Zevran stepped in quickly to halt to the argument before it started. Tensions were running high and even one small argument could lead to disaster. "We are all agreed upon the plan then, yes? And understand the roles we are to play?"

The captain grunted his assent and Arihel nodded. Zevran hesitated slightly before addressing his next concern. "We also don't want any of the Orlesians to report back. We need to kill them all, to a man. I trust neither of you have objections?"

"No," they both responded at the same time.

"You understand, Arihel, that this means if any attempt to flee, you and your archers must fire at their horses so that the warriors can eliminate them."

"Many of us are…disquiet at the thought of slaughtering mindless animals in order to stop their masters, but we will do what we must."

"Very good. I suggest you make any last preparations you need and then get your people into position. We're going to have a very busy morning."

The plan worked nearly perfectly. The chevaliers, having grown accustomed to weeks of easy pillage and conquest, were unprepared for the attack that came just as the sun was clearing the horizon. Shouts, curses and screams rang out across the village as the militia bellowed war cries and attacked as if in a frenzy.

Discipline saw the chevaliers through that initial assault, and after taking heavy losses to begin with, they regrouped and returned the attack. The militia broke, retreating back to the highway and fleeing down it. The Orlesians, scenting blood in the water, gave chase, eager to teach the Fereldan dogs a lesson.

Leliana, with the Dalish at the edge of Lothering, waited for the bulk of the chevaliers to pass onto the highway before firing the signal that would drop both sets of trees. Zevran, who opted to stay with those tasked with slaughtering the chevaliers who remained behind, chafed at the amount of time it took for the chevaliers to form up and ride out. It took longer than he anticipated, and he knew that every minute the signal was delayed was another minute their forces would be suffering losses.

Finally, the signal—a single flaming arrow—went up, and the creaking and crashing of falling trees followed. Zevran and his people sprang into action even as the screaming of men and horses began to drift back from the highway. The chevaliers who remained behind, as well as those cut off from following their comrades, realized almost instantly what happened and turned to defend themselves.

Though they were more heavily armored, and were undoubtedly more disciplined and better trained, the chevaliers couldn't withstand the power and accuracy of the Dalish bows, or the rage of Fereldan soldiers. He knew from experience the skills of the Dalish, so he was unsurprised by how effective they were, each arrow seeming to find an eye or throat or gap in armor.

What did surprise him was the way the militia fought, Of course, he'd seen them fighting during the civil war and during the siege of Denerim, but the ferocity they brought to this fight left him stunned. They fought for home, for family, for revenge—and they would not be stopped.

When the fighting finally ended, and both he and his blades were coated in blood, Zevran began to understand how these people had broken the Tevinter Imperium and the Orlesian occupiers and emerged from both as an intact people. It was rather…inspiring.

Leliana found him as he was going from body to body, either finishing a job mostly done or directing some of the less wounded to be held for questioning.

"I see you are unharmed, my lovely Leliana."

"And you are not, Zevran!" she admonished him. She gestured to his arm, and he blinked at the wide gash across it. He blinked. He hadn't even felt the wound, though now that she called it to his attention, it began to throb and ache.

"Here," she said, pulling him off to the side and pressing him to sit on the ground. "You have enough chevaliers to question later—let the others deal with the rest." She snagged some poultices from one of the villagers who were finally coming out from their homes and began to clean and bandage his wound.

"How bad were our losses?" he asked."

"Greater than we had hoped," she said. "But not nearly as heavy as they could have been. Captain Nolan has survived and he is directing his men in gathering what is useful. Arihel has sent some of her Dalish out scouting to make sure none have escaped, and has the rest gathering deadwood for pyres."

"I am surprised the Fereldans would accord the chevaliers such an honor."

Leliana shook her head. "It is no honor. They are being burned en masse. None here will spare the effort to bury them and the bodies cannot be left to rot. So they're being burned like trash, or tainted creatures. And I do not think any will even speak the words of the Maker over them as they do so."

Zevran sighed at the consternation in her voice. Sweet, forgiving Leliana, even after all she'd been through. "The chantry still stands, no? I think that were you to speak a few words privately for the souls of our enemies—in between prayers from those of our own who dies—no one would notice."

She beamed at him. "Thank you, Zevran. You're quite right. There, your arm is all set now. Rest for a bit while I go and help the other wounded." She rose gracefully and began making her way to where wounded were helped by their fellows.

Zevran looked around the village. There were bodies everywhere, of friend and foe alike. Villagers scurried back and forth, still fearful and still bearing the marks of the abuses they had suffered. The surviving fighters, though, moved with confidence, pride evident in their bearing. They had faced their foe and prevailed.

Yes, they had won a victory, and a very important one at that, in more ways than one. But to Zevran, it felt hollow. He had grown soft, too used to fighting battles in the company of friends—his inner Crow, the part of him that would never go away, mocked him for that sentimentality and weakness—and it felt strange to have only Leliana in the fight with him, not even beside him. He would be glad when he returned and would be able to fight beside Alistair, Oghren and Wynne again.

He ignored the ache that came when he thought about the one above all others he should be fighting beside, and pushed himself up. There was still much to be done.


	49. Chapter 49

I suppose I should begin with an apology, an explanation, and a warning.

An apology: for just dropping this like a hot rock and not coming back to it. I'm sorry. I always said I wouldn't abandon it and then I did. That was wrong of me. I apologize to all the people who got invested in the story and then I failed to uphold my end.

An explanation: because you should know why I abandoned this. The further I got into the story, and the more I branched out into other works ans fandoms, the got more experience and expanded my skills as a writer, the more I realized the critical flaws in this work, and got incredibly frustrated with it. I was then caught because the thought of going back over 130k words to fix things was horrifying to me, and I didn't know how to begin fixing it. It was easier to just walk away than to try and tackle the problem.

A warning: because even though I'm posting this chapter, I can't promise regular updates. I'm trying to finish off works for some other fandoms and those are my priority. If I can find the time and drive to post more here, I will, but I can guarantee that it won't be regular. I do know how this story ends, it's just a matter of writing it. But in order to do that, I need to reread this whole thing and try and get back into the proper mindset. That's going to take a while.

And the reason you have this chapter at all is because all the guilt from the comments finally got to me. My friends and betas can tell you that abandoning this was the biggest regret I've had in writing fanfiction, and I urge others not to be me and do this to their works. I feel like I need to give you something, so here is...something. It may not mesh exactly perfectly, but hopefully it's good enough.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 45**

There was never enough time, Fiona decided. Osric's departure, with nearly a third of Weisshaupt's almost six-hundred Wardens, had made things both easier and harder for her. Most of the Wardens he had taken were loyal to him, meaning she had more freedom to act in Weisshaupt without a constant watch. It also meant she had to decide how much she was to act.

She looked down at the reports in front of her. When Osric left, a few of her own Wardens, deeply planted, had accompanied him. They had managed to get a handful of reports back to her, but she knew every time they risked sending one was one more chance they took in being discovered.

The reports….

She didn't need to look through them again. She had practically memorized them at this point. Her dilemma was what she going to do about it. She couldn't stop what Osric was doing now, no matter how much she wanted to. He was too far away and it wasn't as if she had any control over him in any case. Her opposition to some of his plans had power in Weisshaupt because they were both where they had the bulk of their support.

With the freedom she currently had, she could take the opportunity and move against him in a more aggressive manner. However, Wardens outside Weisshaupt were more inclined to stay neutral in the power plays between the factions, though those that didn't might be more likely to lean towards her side. Would there be enough support if she moved against him? Perhaps now might be the time to send out feelers to Wardens she knew to be sympathetic.

But if Osric prevailed in Ferelden, it was certain he would learn of her actions. And he wouldn't hesitate to take reprisals.

Her thinking was interrupted by the sound of boots striking against the stone floor of the corridor as someone ran down it. Scant seconds later, the door to her room was flung open and a dark-haired Warden staggered inside. It was Hazel, one of the younger Wardens she had brought into her fold. The girl had been impressed with Alistair during his visit, and Fiona had slowly cultivated her and her support carefully in the years since.

The young woman was bent over now, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. Fiona rose and came over. "What is it? What's happened, child?"

"Marlon!" Hazel managed to get out, raising her head to look at Fiona with wide green eyes. "He's returned! He went…to get…Alvarro! You said to…watch for any…of Osric's men. I think they're heading for the queen's room."

Fiona felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. "Come!" she snapped and hurried out of the room with Hazel on her heels. She began casting as they ran, hasting herself and the rogue behind her. _Please let me be in time,_ she thought. _Let me not be too late._

* * *

Fiona heard a cry as she approached Lya's open door, and put in an extra burst of speed, ready to cast as soon as she entered the room. What she found when she reached the door shocked her.

Marlon lay on the floor in a spreading pool of blood that flowed from his opened throat. Lya was behind him, crouched in a defensive posture, eyes wide in surprise. Alvarro stood over Marlon, stained dagger in hand, looking down critically at the body.

Alvarro was a Warden Fiona had approached circumspectly. He was smart, skilled, and competent. Though she had tried, he'd never been as receptive as she had hoped. When Osric leaned on him, and Alvarro began to show signs showing of throwing in with him, she had backed off. She couldn't afford to reveal too much to someone who would end up being in Osric's pocket.

Now he looked up as she entered and she wasn't sure what to make of either the scene before her or his expression.

"I've slain a brother to save the life of a sister," he said quietly. He looked over towards Lya, who was still looking at all of them warily, and then back to her. "And if you don't move her somewhere safe, it will be in vain."

Removing a small rag tucked inside his gauntlet, he wiped his dagger and sheathed it. He gave Marlon's corpse, Lya, and Fiona a long, searching look before easing past Fiona and Hazel and disappearing down the hall.

Fiona studied the scene before her for a moment before turning to Hazel. "Get Isaia and Einar for me, and have them meet me in my rooms. Find Wiebe and have him clean this up." She gestured to the body and the pool of blood. "When that's done, come to my office. Wait for me if I'm not there."

"Yes, ser." With a quick salute, Hazel dashed out of the door, and Fiona turned back to the tense and suspicious queen of Ferelden.

"Please come with me, Your Majesty. It's no longer safe for you here."

"It's never been safe for me here. And I have no reason to trust you." Though she spoke quietly, there was a hard edge to Lya's words. Fiona ducked her head in silent agreement with Lya's statement.

"Indeed, you do not. I can offer you no assurances except for my word that I mean you no harm and wish to keep you safe from further attacks. I cannot do that very well if you remain here. If I am to protect you, I need to move you. Please, I'm asking you, come with me."

For several heartbeats, Fiona was afraid Lya would remain where she was until Fiona moved her by force. But the queen straightened, drawing herself up and moving cautiously towards Fiona. She kept her distance, but followed Fiona towards the door. After casting a cautious glance up and down the hallway, Fiona gestured for Lya to go out, and closed the door silently as she followed.

"This way," she murmured, leading Lya down the hall. The halls were mercifully empty and Fiona breathed a sigh of relief as she arrived at her own rooms and opened the door, ushering Lya inside. "I'm going to lock the door," she said after they had entered, "to keep others out, not you in. I hope you understand that. Guards will be placed outside your door for further protection. I will return as quickly as I can. Please, make yourself comfortable until then." Indicating the couch and chairs in the room, she bowed her head at Lya and ducked out the door.

* * *

"Tell me it was worth it, Fiona."

The mage looked up to see Alvarro lean against the doorjamb of the open door of her office. Standing guard behind her shoulder, Hazel stiffened, shifted, and made to move towards Alvarro. Fiona stilled her with a brief gesture.

"I can't," she replied quietly.

Alvarro frowned slightly. "Do you intend to return her to Ferelden?"

Fiona struggled to find an answer. She wanted, desperately, to send Lya home, to send her back to Alistair and her family. She wanted to do at least one good thing for Alistair, but the cost…. Maker help her, she didn't know if it would be worth the cost.

"I want to," she said finally.

"If you send her, it will reveal you to be a traitor."

"Why do you care, Alvarro?"

He looked past her, out the window that showed only desolate landscape. "I didn't join the Wardens to become a murderer," he said slowly. "This…sits ill with me. What Osric is doing in Ferelden…." His jaw tightened. "I don't like it.

"I don't necessarily agree with you and your aims, Fiona, but I agree even less with Osric and his goals now. I won't pretend to care about Ferelden or its rulers or Osric's plan for it. What I care about is that the woman, _the Grey Warden_, who ended the Fifth Blight sits prisoner in a Warden stronghold awaiting execution by the First Warden. That's not right!"

His last words were punctuated with a vehemence that made Fiona straighten. Alvarro very rarely let strong emotion move him, so this must truly bother him for it to garner a reaction like this.

Alvarro continued to scrutinize her. "If you send her to Ferelden alone, and Osric catches her, he _will_ kill her"

"I'm well aware of that," Fiona responded, trying to tamp down her uncertainty. "But she cannot remain here."

Alvarro nodded and the silence stretched out in the room. Behind her, Hazel shifted uncomfortably, no doubt unsure what to make of the situation.

"But you're going to do it anyway," he finally said.

"I think I have to."

"It will be very dangerous." Fiona didn't bother to respond. They all knew that. "You should perhaps take others with you."

"Are you volunteering, Alvarro?" she asked, unsure of exactly what his intent was.

"I am."

"Why? Why would you do that?"

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Alvarro's mouth. "I like her. She has spirit. Tell me, is she worth it?"

Fiona thought back to Lya's hard, green eyes. "Probably not," she admitted. "What do you think?"

"I think…I think while she alone may not be worth turning against the Wardens for, what she stands for might be. And I fear that Osric's dedication has blinded him to the damage he might cause. If we stand by and do nothing, we're just as culpable as he. And if I am to turn against my brothers and sisters, I would have it be for a purpose I can believe in. I say we take her back and help them stop him."

She didn't know what to make of him right now. Fiona resisted the urge to worry at her lower lip while she thought. If Alvarro were lying, she could afford no displays of weakness. But she saw little reason for him to lie now, to devise such an odd twist of events when he could have easily carried out his original orders.

Trusting him would be a gamble, yes, but it might be worth it. Perhaps a test was in order. She trusted her skills enough to believe that if Alvarro was out to betray them, she could defend herself. And if not, she could at least take him down with her.

"Fine. Then you and I will accompany her back to Ferelden."

Alvarro laughed, a free and easy sound, completely devoid of any falseness. "No, no, you misunderstand me." He smiled. "I mean we should _all_ go with her."

Shocked, Fiona stared at Alvarro with wide eyes. He was suggesting…. Holy Andraste, he was suggesting all of Fiona's Warden oppose Osric—a rebellion within the Wardens. That alone could destroy the Wardens as surely as anything Osric was doing now. A war between Wardens would have staggering losses.

"Do you have any idea of what the impact of your suggestion would be, were we to follow it?"

His dark eyes were knowing. "Yes."

"I…I don't know if I can do that." The thought of countless Wardens dying because she didn't like one man's schemes was almost more guilt than she could bear. She had dedicated herself to the Wardens for nearly three decades. After returning from Ferelden, they had been all she had had left. If things went poorly, if the hidden infighting between the factions turned into open warfare, the Grey Wardens might never recover. If another blight arose when they were weak or broken, how many would suffer then? The Anderfels were testament enough of the permanent damage wrought by the darkspawn. All of Thedas could perish because of her selfish wish to stop a man whose goals were not entirely misplaced.

Ferelden would suffer. Maric's country would suffer because of Osric's hubris. Maric's son, her son—Maker help her—_their son_ would suffer, had already suffered. And even faced with the potential, disastrous consequences, she _still_ wanted to stop it. But doing so would mean abandoning her first oath. How did one weigh the lives of two families? She didn't know if she—

"I'm in." Hazel's clear voice behind her startled her and Fiona turned to look at her.

"We'll go with you, Fiona. All of us. We're tired of sitting around, doing nothing." Hazel looked at her earnestly. "She's a Warden. Alistair's a Warden. Will we leave them to face this alone? Again?"

With that one little word, Hazel quietly disarmed every objection Fiona was about to raise. May all the Wardens who came before her forgive her for what she was going to do.

"Begin spreading the word, quietly, for the others to prepare. We leave for Ferelden in two days."


End file.
